Dovahkiin Journal
by RinnKruskov
Summary: Excerpts of selected stories taken from Dovahkiin's journal. Depicts Dovahkiin's adventure throughout Skyrim and heroic deeds as sung by bards of yore.
1. Unbound

**Just...a trial. I have been reading Assassin's Creed Forsaken and was inspired to make a journal-like prose. **

* * *

Riverwood blacksmith's basement became our temporary refuge in this cold northern land, despite being early in spring the weather was extremely cold for visitor hailing from Imperial City. The Imperial soldier's uncle willingly provide us lodging and food, not to mention risking themselves caught red-handed giving assistance to Imperial soldier as Stormcloaks discourage if not disliking completely such action. To the smith family though, it would be an act of kindness as they extended a helping hand for a relative in need. Alvor's alignment in the war was clear enough, he prefers the Imperial over Stormcloaks.

"Are you warm enough, laddies? Do you need more fur?" blacksmith Alvor's voice could be heard from above the set of wooden stair leading to upper floor. Wood creaked under his strong legs and sure footings. The bearded blacksmith descended the wooden stairs bringing animal fur for his visitors to use for the night. Be it as makeshift bed or as a blanket.

The Imperial soldier named Hadvar answered his caring uncle, "I am fine, uncle. Though the same could not be said for our city-bred Nord". Pointing at the other occupant of the room, me. A Nord hailing from Imperial City shivering at one dark corner of the basement. Living in comfortable University environment had made the visitor more susceptible to the elements. Not to mention the central part of Cyrodiil has that warm temperature and could be said to have the most comfortable weather compared to anywhere in Tamriel. Especially when compared with humid Elyswyr woods and searing sands by Redguard territory. Although I must add Skyrim chillness to the list. They weren't kidding when they said Burma was not cold enough for a Nord.

Decided to swallow my pride, I replied to Hadvar's query "Indeed, if this city-bred Nord could have more fur…I would be much obliged"

"Fancy words you said, " commented the blacksmith as he tossed the fur towards his visitor. The peculiar Imperial Nord wearing dirty mage robe she got from dead body, which clearly shown from the mis-matched size. Clearly having aptitude in spell casting. The spells, in fact had saved his nephew's life more than once that day.

Sleeping on a bear fur inside a basement was more preferable compared to the situation both Hadvar and I had experienced during the day, being chased by dragon and Stormcloaks felt like a lifetime ago. Alvor's wife had served stewed venison during the dinner few hours before. Although the taste was not as refined as Imperial canteens' meals, the stew was hearty and filling. My new friend, Hadvar, kept teasing me on true Nord's feast, which the city-bred rarely if not never experience. I must admit I develop a taste for the wild after spending days outside the clustered buildings of Imperial University, away from the sterile environment and musk scented library behind the safe walls of Imperial City. Though not much remain from the once glorious city.

My benefactors were happy to see both Hadvar and I ravaged their offering. Hadvar's niece looked at both of us with hopeful expectation, there was a certain glimmer in her eyes. She wanted to listen to our tales of dragon again. She had, in fact, listened to our fright driven story with so much attention. Seeing such innocent bravery, who would not feel ashamed for wetting their tresses? On second thought, Hadvar did not wear any. Why those Imperial soldiers would display their lower part is beyond me.

With remaining light from the candle, I tried to recollect the chain of events that led me to this basement. It was thrilling and frightening at the same time. Bandit raids or monster infestation paled in comparison when dragons are involved. Hadvar shifted on his makeshift bed of straw and fur, having no need to cover himself with more game bounty, and looked at me as I was writing this entry. Although most of my belongings were caught in the fire, I managed to salvage my journal. That much I thank every Divines.

Waking up on a carriage, I was greeted by a hardy face of a Nord soldier. Clad in hortense blue tabard and chain mail. His face was covered in dust and there were slight dried blood by his right lips, proof of previous fight before he too was knocked down. He looked at me curiously and when he realized his fellow prisoner was up, he greeted me in a most affectionate manner as if he was my own blood brother. He was not, but strangely enough he did. I looked around, though my sight was still blurred. In a short time I realized my arm was bound tight.

As a mage, I could have used fire spells and be rid of the rope. But alas, arrows would nest themselves onto my back should I dare to escape the host. I would never risk it. The Nord across me introduced himself as Ralof of Riverwood. His wheat blonde hair were oily, the same could be said of his visage. He looked extremely tired…and the disturbing part was…accepting expression on his face. From his face alone I knew what was going to happen.

The other two prisoners with us were a horse thief, caught at the same time as me back in Blackwater. Unfortunate victim thrown together along the rebel. He got a dark eye and dried blood under his nostril, obviously from an unjust beating despite his nature being a thief. The other one had a regal atmosphere about him. Despite being bound and gagged he sat straight and put on prideful expression. The regal Nord looked at me in return as he realized I have been staring at him.

"Watch your tongue, horse thief. You are speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak. Skyrim's one true High King!" Ralof reprimanded the dark eyed man for talking indecently towards the ebony coated man. The rebel king, or so the news said. I had heard rumors of it back in Bruma but never had I imagined of meeting the leader of rebellion himself. What fate had thrown at me, I had no slightest idea. Our chattering might have annoyed the Imperial soldier steering our carriage as he screamed at us to keep quiet. My new Nord friend disregarded him.

The host reached for a small village surrounded by walls. I was overwhelmed by mixture of Skyrim architecture and Imperial fortress. Ralof was commenting on Thalmor plot and an Imperial general called Tullius, which I paid no attention. Politics was never included in me interest list. To our horror, there was a headsman ready by the execution block. I devised plans and plans to escape the situation at hand. Fire spells first perhaps, or lightning to stun the enemy. After all I had learnt chain lightning spell. Or illusion spells… making the headsman went berserk with his two handed axe.

That's when the horse thief escaped the host. In a few seconds, arrows struck his back and he died instantly. Politics. I wished those kings hungry of power would kill themselves to death instead involving their people in their game of thrones. Gritting my teeth, I marched behind Ralof towards the headsman block. An Imperial soldier had tried to buy my freedom, saying that I was not involved with the rebellion. The woman captain was intent on sending my head flying, or rather intent in licking General Tullius' boots.

I remember the kind officer was riding his horse behind our carriage before. The man marched towards the headsman block. First head went flying…or rather thumped into a wooden box prepared beneath the block. The proud Nord accepted his fate and died in honor.

"Next, the nord in rags!"

Muttering curses of my fate, I walked slowly towards the block where the headsman was eager to see me off to Sovngarde or wherever Nord heaven is said to be. Not that I was eager enough to see the realm. The kind officer looked at me with apologetic eyes, obviously for failing to save my life in the least. The boot licking captain, on the other hand, kicked me in the back of my knee and shoved my head onto the block.

My sight filled with the humongous body of the headsman and the guard tower behind it. As the axe was lifted I saw a sight…a sight that would be impossible for current era. A black wyrm was flying amongst the cloud. I heard the soldiers were screaming as the black dragon approached Helgen, and landed right on the guard tower. It shouted…yes, shouted incorrigible words. The sky went dark, clouds forming swirling maelstorm-pattern like in the sky. From beyond the cloud descended rains of fire.

"Come on, Gods won't give us another chance!"

Ralof's scream woke me up from my astonishment. I quickly stood up a d ran towards him, hitting few loose rocks and stumbled myself against confused soldiers. The Stormcloak soldier caught me by the arm and dragged me towards another guard tower. I took a last look behind me before the door was abruptly closed. It…the black monster burned a whole platoon mercilessly and a hunk of fiery rock falling off the sky smashed the headman's masked head.

"Legends don't burn down villages" a baritone voice spoke amongst the confusion within the dark tower. It was the voice of Ulfric Stormcloak. He had indeed charismatic feature about him. He then ordered Ralof and me to escape. We climbed the stone ladder when we saw a fellow Stormcloak clearing the rubble by the topmost stair…when suddenly the wall was breached. The dragon's jaw opened and it spit fiery breath on the unfortunate soldier. Ralof and I were fortunate enough not to be caught in the fire. More like the Nord dragged me down the stair to cover ourselves.

After a few jumps and encouragement from Ralof, I met the kind Imperial officer again as I ran out a burning house. The dragon was in front of us, busy searing a man alive, his death wail pierced my eardrums. The man called Hadvar escorted me as we ran through burning houses towards the main force of Imperial soldiers. Just as we passed a stone house, a shadow flew above us. The Imperial soldier told me to stick by the wall. As I did as he bid, clawed wings grabbed the stone wall right beside me. A few inches off it might have pierced a grand hole through my heart. The brown maned Nord stood beside me, plastering his back against the stone wall. It was obvious he was trying to keep his fear subdued. Despite that, he extended his sword arm in front of me, making a barrier between our space and possibly death space beyond his arm.

I looked up from where we were hiding. Above us was the ruthless black dragon, clad in ebony scale and skin that is stronger than any iron or steel. As if it's natural armor was made of ebony ingot and where the armor was not protecting the flesh under it, steel plate mail would. Every part of the dragon is lethal. Sharp claw, spiked tail, and even fire breathing jaw. It was a whole superior creature compared to other mortals. It had flexibility, speed, strength, and aptitude in magic stronger than any creature on Tamriel, moreover it could fly the heavens. The most striking feature was the orb…they held malicious and vengeful aura. If dragons could kill by gazing their opponent, they would die of fear. I was tempted to touch the razor sharp claws, but the cost…it might have cost us our hiding spot and worse, our life.

The moment felt like an eternity. Once again the monster spew out magma breath to an Imperial soldier by the houses. We ran as fast as we could once the gigantic lizard took off into the heavens. By the town square we greeted General Tullius who was busy managing the host. Archers shot their arrow into the heavens hoping to land a hit into the dragon's flesh. Mages threw fire balls towards the dragon which it repelled easily. It was a lost cause. He quickly gave command for us to take refuge inside the hold. As we approached the large building, we crossed path with Ralof.

The two exchanged harsh words which I paid no attention. My mind was elsewhere. It was on the black overgrown lizard. It spun gracefully midair before swooping towards stone wall where the archers lined up with their bows ready. It took an Imperial soldier in its…leg? Paw? Clawed feet? Took him airborne and threw the frightened soldier towards hard ground. I could hear the sound of bone crunch as the soldier hit the ground. I looked no longer, only hoping death came swift for the brave man.

When I returned my attention to Ralof and Hadvar, both looked at me. Each told me to follow them. To follow one is to abandon the others. I had no time to ponder on who was the best to follow as I heard the dragon pierced through the air for another swoop. I ran towards Hadvar and he opened the keep's wooden double door, shoved me inside without giving me a chance for a last look of the brotherly Nord.

I was grateful enough that the Imperial soldier tried to safe my life before, but more than ever when he escorted me with his life through the burning city when he could have ran by himself to safety. Though I must wonder what had become of the brotherly Nord I abandoned in front of the keep. Hadvar unsheathed his dagger and unbound me. Stretching my arms and made sure no permanent damage was done, I observed Hadvar as he trotted about the room looking for weapon and the keep's key.

"You might want to equip those armor" he suggested as he handed me a sword, offering me the hilt of the sword whilst holding the blade carefully. But I had to refuse the armor , as it was extremely heavy and not made for mages. Hadvar shrugged, "I remember a mage prisoner down in Torture Chamber. We might be able to fetch his robe for you. I prefer him alive, though" His mirth expression expressed his disgust of unnecessary torture.

He continued, "I hope your sword arm is strong"

"Have no worry, I am trained enough. I am also capable of casting Destruction spells and lesser Restorative spells" I replied. Hadvar's face brightened for the first time of the day.

"Then we have no fear of killing ourselves"

"Unless I ran out of magick…" I stopped myself mid-sentence realizing the kind officer meant it as a joke. If he intended to brighten the atmosphere, I daresay he did it well, as I felt secure for the first time since I entered Skyrim border days ago. Despite the constant tremor and scream outside the keep. A dragon's roar and sounds of explosions reminded us for being in a war zone.

We passed through the keep towards the basement level, with a couple of Stormcloak interferences. Thank the divines Ralof weren't among those we killed. Hadvar kept his stance at melee range as I cast my Destruction spells. The Stormcloaks stood no change against my spells and Hadvar's expert swordsmanship. Although sometimes his swings resembled those of wood cutters. His sword arm struck true and cut the Stormcloak soldiers clean. Their heads rolled about the floor when my fire spells did not char them alive.

"Well, it's been a while since last I encounter a decent mage" Hadvar commented as he reached for a barrel, inspecting the content. He took out a Health potion from within, and another glimmering blue Magicka potion on the other hand. He tossed the magicka potion to me, which I drunk gratuitously. He also grabbed a leather bag and stuffed some more potion bottle in it, and few bread and fruits. "We might need them on the road" he said as he pointed at a cupboard behind me, gesturing for me to do the same.

Ignoring the dead bodies scattered throughout the store room, I reached for another leather bag and stuffed whatever I could probably use in the flight ahead of us. Bread, dried meat, and few more potions tucked inside my bag before we decided to stop looting. Even we didn't , we would have been stopped by sounds of clashing steel coming from deeper underground. We found a fight broke inside the fore-mentioned torture room.

With help arrived, the Imperial soldier managed to kill the rebels quickly. Hadvar conversed with the inquisitor and his disciple, pleading for them to run from Helgen. The older man refused to do so, whilst the younger one was eager to follow. I looked at one of the cages. There was a dead mage inside it. Looking at me in rags, the old inquisitor mocked , "You can have his things if you can open it, though I lost the key ages ago. Poor mage screaming for days" he cackled gayly. His disciple was disgusted enough that he decided to leave the premise.

Hadvar handed me few lock picks, which I used to open the lock almost immediately. The lock was not a difficult one, therefore even someone untrained as me could have opened it easily. The old man probably hoped to see my grand failure.

"Sure, take all my things, please" said the old inquisitor as I managed to pick the cage's lock. The dead man inside would not need any of his belonging. I took his mage robes and Spark spellbook with me. I preferred robes over armor, although the size of the robe clearly did not match my own. I had to live with it. Better than running around in rags. I silently curse to whoever robbed me off my belonging would die miserably. In the end we left the old man and descended into tight corridor beneath the prisons.

More Stormcloaks, whispered the brown maned Imperial soldier as we approached an opening. Younger inquisitor was too eager to get out that he became training dummy in instant. Arrows planted inside his flesh through his thick armor without any chance of fighting. Hadvar sighed as he charged into the opening. First Stormcloak he traded sword with was dead in seconds, as did the second. On the other side of the opening was two archers whom I charred into ashes. Spotting oily stone floor beneath them, I threw my fire ball towards it and created a grand fiery hell on Nirn.

More tremor and explosion above ground led to cave ins. Creating a point of no return behind us as boulders shut in possible escape for the rest of the host. Hadvar shook his head and led me through a subterranean cavern. Underground river flowed there and it was our cue to the exit. We followed the watery trail towards another cave in. The other tight road led us straight into a spider's nest. If they were your domestic tiny spiders then it would have been a quick work. Yet the spiders was humongous and was twice as big as a Nord adult.

Before the furred eight leg creature could spit out their infernal cobweb and turn us into their dinner, I waved my spell arm and created a wall of fire between us. Hadvar would have to contend to the invading spider as my magicka was completely drained. After a gruesome fight, we managed to kill every spider attacking us. Hadvar cursed the spiders as we followed the cavern and reunited with the subterranean river.

We saw the light leading outside, yet the last obstacle between life and death was a sleeping bear. Other creature I would glad to face, but not the bears as they were fierce some warriors in their own way. Hadvar suggested for me to sneak my way towards the exit which I happily obeyed as the both of us saw no sense in fighting a bear. Unfortunately for us, I stepped on a dried branch. The crunching voice was enough to wake the black furred bear.

Obviously enraged for being disturbed in it's sleep, the bear extended its clawed paw towards me. Hadvar quickly grabbed me and evaded the bear's attack. The claw shredded the Imperial armor like it was merely made of paper. I was not sure how we managed to kill the bear. All I could remember was Hadvar struck a sword through its' neck just before it could shred him into pieces. Hadvar claimed I passed out from the impact and I apparently was lucky enough to wake up just before the Imperial soldier finished the furry creature off.

Light. Our eyes narrowed before we could adjust them to bright environment. Being in the dark for long made us welcome the warm light gratuitously.

Sun hung high in the heavens, telling us not even a day had passed since the black dragon swooped down on Helgen. Before we could celebrate our escape,we heard a familiar roar in the heavens. Hiding behind rocks and bushes, we observed the dragon skirting around the mountainous area before it was bored and flew away. After we emerged from our hiding spot, we descended the hill before we reached a sight familiar to the Imperial soldier. The scenery was amazing for me, a visitor to the province.

Endless tundra somewhere beyond snowy mountain, emerald pine forest surrounding crystal clear lake to the 'west' of the snowy mountain across the river. On the white jagged peaks themselves was Bleak Falls Barrow, a Nord ruin that produced most of Hadvar's childhood nightmare although in his adult year his dreams were of bandits and Stormcloaks instead of living dead, and by the river nearby was a small village called Riverwood, his hometown … blots of inks and incorrigible words


	2. Riverwood

I must have fallen asleep as I was writing last journal. As there was blots of ink on the previous pages.

It was a dark cobble stoned room. The chillness in the air made me snuck back into the bear fur covering my shivering body all night. A man in his Imperial armor shifted in his sleep across the room. Mumbling something about eating too much. Thumping steps from the main floor upstairs told me that our benefactor was already up and ready for their share of a day's work.

Decided to be useful for once, I rose from my warm and cozy makeshift bed, made out of straws - By Talos, it itches so much to sleep on those - covered with animal skin. Ascending the stairs, Alvor's wife saw me and gave her most charming smile. She gestured for me to have breakfast of bread and cheese. A simple affair, but heart warming nonetheless. Compared being falsely accused of treason and sent to headsman block.

Alvor had requested of me to travel through the wilderness to Whiterun, the capital city of this hold, to warn them of the coming of the black dragon. Though I was more than eager to carry out the task, my body proved to be the setback. The wound I received from our flight from Helgen yesterday has not recovered. Though I managed to close the wound with my meager healing spells, the ache would not go away so easily.

Reminding myself that I might need more septims for my traveling fee, as the Imperial soldier took away all my belongings including Grandmother's Spelltome and my coin pouch - not to mention they burnt brilliantly under the dragon's fire-, I decided to get a day's work to make sure I have enough coins to have at least rent myself a room at any inn. Shaking out the coin off the pouch, the content unleashed clanking voice as it hit against the wooden table. Counting what septim I had from looting dead bodies, bad business I know but necessary nonetheless, turned out that I had 53 septims.

"Is there anything at all I can assist with? I do not wish to be a leech in your household as long as I'm staying here" I had said as I shoved the coins back into where they belonged. Hadvar did not touch any coin I looted. He might be a model soldier. Trusting, straightforward, honest, and most importantly brave.

"If you insist, can I ask you to buy some salt from Riverwood Trader across the street?" said Alvor's wife as she handed me few septims for the chore after I insisted few times for helping out. She had argued for me to stay inside and recover lest my wound might reopen. Ordinary people said mages had speech perks whenever they lost a debate against mages. It's a half truth, really, it's just came naturally should you read thousands of parchments and books on daily basis.

Riverwood was a small settlement by a river. So small that the local lord was probably thought it was for naught to post some of his men to guard the premise. There were several homes along side the main road. Smithery, probably thriving from sharpening the saws, also general store and an inn near the walls. There was also a mill by the river where they cut up the lumbers. Several people were cutting the lumbers into firewood, some other were putting the cut pieces onto a carriage to be brought to the capital's hold. Other than those landmarks, the rest of the abodes were merely houses. Guide book to Skyrim did say that the land was savage and truly a backwater province compared to the other lands. I wonder what the hold capital looked like when the settlement was this humble.

Riverwood Trader was a pretty nice home abode considering being out in the country. Then again, Skyrim is indeed a backwater country. It's so far away in the northern part of Tamriel and the people -based on the book I read- are barbaric and grumpy. Entering the general store after 9th hour, I found it ready to cater their customers. There were few people inside the store. An imperial man standing behind the counter who obviously the store owner, an imperial woman who looked similar to the shopkeeper -obviously his sister- , and Alvor himself. The blacksmith was talking to the shopkeeper.

On the counter was an item that took my utmost attention. A golden claw as big as an adult's head. Judging from the shape and skeleton anatomy, the claw would be a dragon's. It should be fitting, as Nords think high of dragons. The shopkeeper found out where my eyes had been gazing and smiled heartily. Who said northern people were grumpy? I ought to send a letter to rebuke such theory.

"Welcome to Riverwood Trader friend, I see you're interested in our family's heirloom. It's not for sale unfortunately. This is our shop's lucky charm you see, to keep people coming. That aside, I can set you up for anything else. Take your time browsing my fine selection" he said as he gestured for the whole shop "…and where's my manner. Lucan Valerius, at your service. Over there is my sister, Camilla"

"Good day" I replied shortly, not accustomed to idle chatter.

"Are you sure you should be off the bed now, girl?" Alvor asked as he inspected a steel hammer Lucan took out from under the counter.

"I'd feel much better walking around than staying in bed. Anyway, I'm here to do an errand for your wife. Ser Lucan do you happen to have some salt?" I asked the storekeeper and somehow it incited laughter from the store's occupant.

"Ser…Lucan. Oh, that's rich!" the woman sitting by the fireplace laughed, her voice sounded like skylark. Camilla Valerius approached me after she composed herself "We do have a lot for fancy tongued girl like you, dear. Come with me" The woman dragged me off the counter and had me sit by the fireplace. She offered a tankard of local ale. "You must be an offlander like I do, welcome to Skyrim. Where did you come from?"

"Imperial City…yes, I hailed from Imperial City"

"What kind of business brought you here in this cold land? I can't imagine mages leave their sanctuary" said the Imperial woman as she shoved a pile of salt inside leather pouch, and traded them for the septims I offered. White salt crystal filled the leather pouch, judging from the amount of crystals inside the shopkeeper's sister might be giving extra serving.

"Well…I'm going for Winterhold, originally" I answered truthfully. Before Helgen and the dragon incident, nay before Imperial raid back in Blackwater I'm supposed to join Winterhold College with commendation from Imperial Magister. Winterhold was the only place I could pursue my thirst for knowledge without being disturbed by petty politics and power battle between high ranking mages.

"I happen to have few spell tomes if you are interested" Lucan called from the counter, but returned to attend Alvor in instant. They went on talking about lack in iron yield recently. Apparently the Stormcloaks had relied on raiding merchants supply and farmlands to boost their supply. Though the Imperials would probably do the same on Stormcloak aligned holds.

"Here's your share, Lucan. Thanks for getting me this fine hammer" Alvor said as he handed septims into Lucan's callused hand. "I'll be at my workshop girl, if you are looking for something to do" That being done, he left the store.

Lucan observed me for a while, and he went to the upper floor only to return with a set of robes. "If you don't mind. I ought to trade your oversized robe for another. Don't worry, they are equal in quality. Probably superior in the enchantments, but it will look better on you. Better than what you are wearing right now"

"Well, you have sound idea once in a while, brother" Camilla teased his brother. I agreed to the trade and exchanged my dusty mage robe for a brand new violet robe. After chatting with Camilla for few more minutes, I dismissed myself and returned to hand the salt crystal.

Hadvar was up but he was still walking with tremendous effort. Sitting by the wooden table, he munched on some dried bread after dipping them inside leftover stew. They indeed looked delectable and tasted divine. Especially so since the broth had seeped in the venison. Stew left overnight was best thing possible.

"You're able to walk around already? Good for you, friend" he remarked as he dipped more of the dried bread inside venison stew. Brown liquid seeped into the bread, moistening it.

"In expense of your health, I'm afraid. Let me heal you" I said and lifted both of my hands, pointing my opened palm towards Hadvar who made a -no it's fine I can handle myself- face. I disregard it as the last time he pulled such expression cost him few scars from an enraged bear. Forming ball of light between my palm, I directed the healing life stream towards the wounded man.

After the healing process was done, Hadvar stretched about and found none of his bone broken nor flesh cut. Though I suspect few scars would still remain. My face flushed in sight of a sincere smile he threw at me in gratitude. I went out the house, flustered. Heading for nearby mill to offer whatever my arm able to do. Physical labor was never my forte but it has to be done.

I need more septims for the road. I thought as I cursed through wood cutting session with alongside a grumpy wood elf and tenor voiced bard.

* * *

**Don't hesitate to tell me if I wrote the lore wrong :3**


	3. To Whiterun

**Tell me if I made lore mistake. I'm trying to make this as close as possible with the real game but with few twist here. Just to make the characters more alive.**

* * *

Today was eventful. Too much for my liking, but at least there were no black wyrm swooping down for a snack. That snack would be an entire village or town to satiate its hunger. The underground level in Jorrvaskr living area was a bit too dark even with its candlelit rooms, which made it a poor choice of doing academic activities such as reading and writing journals. My body still aches from a spar I had this afternoon with one of the Companions senior, or the Circle as members would call them. Compared to mage society, they would be equal to Magician Council.

With the dark surroundings in mind, I decided to write my journal in the main hall. Huge fireplace situated in the middle of dining tables made the hall well-lit. For a Nord home abode the interior was well decorated, a change compared to Alvor's home which furniture and decoration limited to daily needs. Well decorated as in 'legendary' weaponry and shields hung on the wooden walls, skulls and skeletons of hunted beasts, and few mementos of strong enemies - probably bandits of sorts. Typical warrior decorations. One thing that struck out amongst the other battle souvenirs was shards of uniquely shaped weapon hung by the stairs leading to living area. Judging from the shape it would be dual bladed axe. It also has carvings that was unique to previous era, an age where men first landed on Tamriel.

These new associates of mine looked at me with slight confusion as if never seeing anyone writing a journal before. One of them, her name was Ria I think - I could remember her name easily as she was the friendliest Nord around, asked me what I was writing so intently. She almost snatched my journal if the snob dog called Vilkas did not stop her. After a few inquiries with my colleagues resulted in information that told me apparently Vilkas too had academic interest in history albeit only limited to Companion's. I did not believe that, of course.

The day started rather magnificently (sarcasm). Two days the Divine-forsaken ebony dragon filled my dream with nightmare as it replay burning Helgen many a times. The first thing I saw as I woke up was the stone floor. Hadvar said I had been thrashing about wildly in my sleep.

"I wish I could accompany you, friend. Though I am afraid I am not recovered yet" said the Imperial soldier as he saw me off on a stony bridge leading out Riverwood. He was wearing peasant clothing instead of his usual Imperial armor to avoid unnecessary conflict with Stormcloaks. Some of the villagers saw them marching nearby, and Hadvar did not want to risk it for the both of us.

"You ought to be sorry, it's your own fault for re-opening your wound. I told you I'm no expert healer" I reprimanded him for being careless. There were bandits passing the town last night, hoping for a quick septim. Unfortunately for them, the smith and miller were good at handling their axes and hammer. Not to mention a visiting Imperial soldier and stray mage. Front lines fell in an instant whilst those in the back ran with their tails between their legs. My Nord friend exerted too much and accidentally reopen his wound. I could have sworn seeing Ralof amongst the villagers but I would not press into such matter. Too risky. "So what are you going to do after you're recovered?"

"I'll return to Solitude and continue my commission under General Tullius. You ought to join us Imperial army, you'll make a great addition" Hadvar smiled again as he extended the invitation.

"Doubtful, they nearly lob off my head two days ago, in case you have forgotten it" I remarked ruefully. The incident that had taken my possession and precious tome of the Archsage who helped Martin Septim during Oblivion Crisis. My own Grandmother's. It was a collection of her favorite spells after sorting every spells she had learnt during her somewhat bumpy adventure between Tamriel and Oblivion. Not only that, it was her journal as well. Reading it since childhood incited my thirst for knowledge and adventure, if not leading me to write my own.

"I know you might feel bitter after what happened. But I'm pretty sure you are forgiven, especially after your miraculous survival against dragon. They will want to have resilient soldier on their side. Not to mention you're an apt healer"

"I'll…consider it. May it be we are able to stand side by side again. But not against dragon again" He looked brighter when I promised to consider joining Imperial Army.

Hadvar's niece came running towards the stone bridge, flustered. When she reached us the told us, "The blue bad guy are coming"

"You better return to the home abode, Hadvar. Meanwhile I'll continue my march upon Whiterun"

There were no need for confirmation, only silent acknowledgement. He returned post haste to Alvor's home with his niece tailing his every steps. On the other hand, I began my march towards Whiterun. The blacksmith himself had given me direction to the hold's capital and the person I had to confer with regarding the matter of this black menace. As Alvor suggested, I followed the riverside road leading downhill. The other dirt road, logically, would lead travelers to Bleak Falls Barrow. Looking at the hollow Nord ruins for the last time, I could have sworn a certain pulse of energy emanating from within it…calling me.

Perhaps I had too much ale last night. Sleeping Giant inn had the best offering of ale and mead.

The Stormcloack march ran into me after a few while. I was slow in my pace as I would not risk running out of stamina from running all the time. The blue tabard soldiers brought with them a prisoner. I recognized her as one of the Imperial soldier handling the the prisoners back in Helgen. The leg humping Imperial captain back in Helgen, who tried to please General Tulius, the very same woman who had ordered for my beheading. Smirking on the irony how the situation had reversed between us. She recognized me in instant, but made no sound as her mouth was gagged.

Two days ago it was I wrapped in rags, hands bound, shoved roughly into a forced march, and forcefully thrown into headsman block. Whilst the former Imperial captain was smug itself personified, with her obviously polished and glistening Imperial plated armor showing her position in the military…which is meager. Today though, she was in no position to kiss her superior's posterior…as she was in fact, wrapped in rag like I did the day before yesterday, bound for Windhelm. I could only imagine she was ambushed by Stormcloaks as she tried to reach Solitude, three against one.

When she reaches Stormcloaks' headquarters she would probably tortured or interrogated for vital information…or executed if she was fortunate enough to be considered useless or bad trading. Personally I would love for the haggard Nords to prolong her death as much as possible, if not giving her the best treatment. I didn't doubt it as I saw the 'affection' marks around her thighs. Still days away from Windhelm and she would have to pay homage to her escort each every sundown. What amusing…yet disgusting thought.

I could not stand it anymore for I had to say "Not getting so much for licking Tullius' boots now,eh, woman? Suppose you had to kiss some fine blades each night" Her expression was priceless. Apparently one of the Stormcloak soldiers caught me sneering at the prisoner and approved of my action.

"Go to Windhelm, Nord sister. Ufric Stormcloak would want to meet any able body willing to free our land"

I made no reply, but made a friendly gesture to the passing Stormcloaks. That's when I saw the first glimpse of Whiterun. A city surrounded by stone walls erected amongst sun-yellow tundra and its scarce vegetation. Few farmlands scattered across the tundra but was still within reach of the hold itself. Windmills spun lazily with the low wind. People tending to the farmland and cattle. Featured above all of them was the castle. Dragonsreach, Alvor had said, was the most beautiful castle in Skyrim with its multiple stories and grand windows. It is said to have held a dragon captive hence the name Dragonsreach. The Stormcloaks in my company looked at the city with slight disgust. Later on I found out that the Jarl maintained neutral ground, although he himself fancied the Imperial.

Before I could bask in the scenery, I heard screams coming from the farmlands below. The Stormcloaks who were with me approached the ledge and looked towards the same direction. There was a stray giant walking around local farmland and there were few people having a rough time handling the humongous humanoid. Without thinking twice I slid down the ledge to assist the brave men. I could have sworn the blue soldiers screamed at me…

"..no need to! They…Companions!"

Down the hill I found a group of people fighting off a stray giant. Twice or thrice as big as a normal men, arms strong enough to crush bones despite their bony feature. Perhaps it accidentally stumbled upon the farm but a giant was still a threat to locals so it had to be killed. There were two woman and a man fighting against creature twice as big as their own flesh. One woman with auburn hair was keeping her distance with ground zero whilst shooting her arrows, another woman was fighting with a sword and a shield, whilst the man was tending the giant with two handed sword.

It just so happen that the woman with sword and shield failed her footings and slipped. She would have been smashed into mashed potato were I not throwing off fireballs into the ugly creature's bald head. As expected, the fire was not even close to deal a good a mount of damage much less a scratch. Still, the giant's attention was turned to me. The slipped woman quickly stumbled on her feet and returned to her fighting stance.

To our surprise, the giant lifted a huge hunk of rock and threw it towards me. Rolling to safe ground, I managed to evade impending doom. Perhaps I had burnt his last receding hair. Only the Divines know what pride these giants hold. I launched another fiery balls right after I reached safe ground. Whilst his attention was turned to me, the other warriors keep attacking the giant until it was overwhelmed at last. In the end the man wielding two handed sword jumped off a tall rock and lobbed the giant's head off.

In minutes after our celebration and introduction, somehow I managed to get myself invited into the Companions. According to 'Guide to Skyrim', the Companions was a group of mercenary led by Ysgamor- Divines forgive me should I misspelled his name. They were true to their tradition and carry it with pride until now. They are well respected all across Skyrim just like its far cousin Fighter Guild in Cyrodiil. Although some other sources, like interviews with tourist and visiting officials, claimed that they were rude lout and had overestimated reputation. Oh I'm sure no Fighter Guild member had fought a giant so gallantly before in their life.

The sharpshooter hunter was Aela, the clumsy girl was Ria, and the gallant man was Farkas. The three joyously welcomed me to Skyrim. They knew right away from my … sophisticated accent that I was of Imperial City. They do have rough language but compared to snakes and rats in Imperial Court…well, I prefer their company. They were honest lot….oh, look at what have this charming accent do to me. They were fine company. There was something about them that told me I could just blend well with them. Aela led our company towards Whiterun with sure footings, Ria stormed me with questions about life in Cyrodiil whilst the lone wolf quietly listened to our conversation. Though once he raised his voice the man really hit the nail.

"Why would you build a whole water system under your city if it served as weakness?"

I could not answer that. True enough, the famed sewage system had cost Uriel Septim prior to Oblivion Crisis. "Why…that was …unexpected. But rest assured that afterwards guards are posted inside, much to their dismay"

"That would be too late"

"You are a decent Nord, although you are a mage" said the female sharpshooter. Judging from her words, I could tell mages are not exactly welcome in Nord tradition. Nothing of this had been mentioned in guides and cultural research on Skyrim.

"I suppose you northern Nords aren't too fond of us spellcasters?" I asked, risking to uncover uneasy topic, but it had to be done before any cultural mistakes made.

"Mages are for the weak, you know. I mean elves" she said in brief. Since Nords are proud warriors, it would be normal for them to despise mages and their 'cowardly' way of fighting. Not to mention mages always had a plan under their sleeve. It made sense then. "Last time we met a mage, he was a necromancer. Nasty business, but we managed to kill him." Those of Bruma Nords are still forgiving about mages and spellcaster, so much that they did let a branch of mage guild built in the city. Under the pretext of no dangerous and explosive experiments obviously.

"You would make a fine Companion" she continued, "consider it"

We reached Whiterun's gate. Apparently word had reached them that the Companions brought an outsider with them. One of them approached me and asked me to state my business. After a short explanation on dragons attack and request to meet the Jarl, the guards let me through. With slight assistance from the Companions confirming of my prowess and honor in battle.

If the exterior of the city wall was overwhelming enough then the inside would be no less. I dare myself writing that Whiterun was the most beautiful and enticing city I've ever seen in my whole life. Wooden houses covered with wheat stalks or carved wood roofs. Wild flowers around the gardens, running water system across the city…and clean, mind you! Clashes of steel welcomed my entrance into the city and I saw a woman smith working on hot metal, shaping it into a blade.

"No lollygaggin'" A guard reminded me as I stood agape at the sight. Ria dragged me to follow them. We passed a row of houses, the market situated around a well, and above a set of stairs was a dead tree.

"Over there is Dragonsreach and that overturned ship like building is Jorrvaskr" Farkas pointed the important buildings. "Come over after you're finished with business" The three walked towards the ship shaped wooden hall after bidding me good hunt. Hunt instead of fortune.

Inside Dragonsreach was a huge hall with high ceiling. A long fireplace was lit in the center of the hall with two long tables at each side. One room by the left side was an apparent kitchen while the other had a man dressed in mage robes. I would have still wondering about the architecture were cold blade did not graze my neck.

A dark elf woman glared at me with her magenta orbs, blade ready at my neck. "Why are you here? Why did the guards let you through"

Using one finger to push the steel away, I answered her question. Trying my best not to falter. "I am here to report a dragon attack on Helgen"

The woman named Irileth led me towards the throne, indicating to me to keep a proper distance away from the Jarl. Jarl Balgruuf, I pondered, was a charismatic middle aged man. Despite his striking golden wheat hair, he could not hide streaks of silver amongst them. That early aging came from depressions, with dragon attacks and civil war. He wore sleeveless state robe, featuring his strong muscled arms. A crown decorated his temple. He listened to my story intently, which I cut the prisoner part on purpose.

Jarl Balgruuf and his retainer discussed then about what to do with the pressing issue. Irileth claimed they had to send some men to guard Riverwood whilst the other bald retainer did not want to incite Falkreath hold's wrath. Politics. The Jarl was wise enough to disregard what the retainer said and told Irileth to send guards towards Riverwood. My part was done then, or so I thought. Thinking I could have just be done with it and get a carriage to Winterhold College. But no…the Jarl had to ask for my assistance. Grandma would be proud of me.

"With dragons in every corner of Skyrim, there would be no safe place to conduct experiments, my dear mage. In fact, I am hoping for you to share your knowledge on the dragon for us to better react against their behavior" the Jarl said when I tried to refuse his offer. "Even dragons fly as far and beyond remote regions of Winterhold as we speak. There's no guarantee your College will not be grounded soon should we fail to act against these flying lizards"

"You made a fine point,Jarl Balgruuf. What would you have me do then?"

"Let us go find my mage, Farengar. He is engrossed in his research of dragons. Who knew that strange hobby of his would turn useful?" Jarl Balgruff said with a smirk on his face, trying to liven up the atmosphere. Though there was a slight mirth in his voice. Perhaps the situation on civil war was bad enough even without dragons fiery breath.


	4. Making Ends Meet

**Trying to stay as close to the game. But few twists here and there. **

* * *

It took to my attention that I have been neglecting my journal for days. I would try to write in what ever happened since the last time I got the chance. Worse still, Vilkas almost saw the curses I wrote about him.

Perhaps it would be an understatement to write how backwater Skyrim province was. In fact, this infernal cold place could be the least place one ought to visit even for their holiday trip. Not when there was civil war and dragons ready to swoop down and make a quick snack out of them unfortunate visitors. Nay, it's even worse. So far I had not been pleased with what I saw and get.

My body itches from sleeping on the so called beds in Whiterun hold. The beds- oh, I might not be able to stop myself but it had to be done lest I will turn Sheogorath soon - were made of stacks of hay, covered with animal skin or fur. Compared to University beddings, which is soft and fluffy not to mention COMFORTABLE enough to be slept on…these 'beds' are nightmare. These Companions were happy enough to sleep on those fake beds, heck I reckon they won't refuse sleeping roll.

So far I am not amused at all. Then again all this lash out must have come from this Oblivion forsaken itch. I should try being more objective in every matter…and perhaps ointment from my new Herbalist friend just downhill.

I could not have written better description of Whiterun yesterday as the events overwhelmed me. Today, on the other hand and if the Divines willing would allow me write better if not more sophisticated description of this fine city. Spending my morning walking around Whiterun to memorize the road pattern, districts and patrol route - don't ask why I would register patrol in my observation routine- , I found few eyes fixed upon me as I pass by. Those eyes belonged to local children. In short I was engaged in their little tag game. They were aspiring warriors, their feet quick and sharp minded. The locals laughed at me having hard time catching those rascals.

Jarl Balgruuf had me work under Farengar, not literally, who was researching on dragon myths. Turned out his unique - strange would have negative implication to it - pass time became useful in this dark times. Since the two of us are both mages, he could acknowledge me better compared to other thugs Jarl Balgruuf sent at him. So he claimed after quick introduction and finding my well of knowledge was satisfactory. We did quick work on ancient runes and myths on dragons he managed to collect all across Skyrim. Few came from Winterhold College's library.

"Had I not known that old orc, I probably could not have gotten these treasures" he eyed the copies written personally by Urag Gro-Shub, the College's librarian. None of the writings help, so in a short time I was dismissed. "We're waiting for my contact. Until then have a rest…oh and deliver this frost salts to Arcadia would you? She's an alchemist. Her shop's just downhill by the market. Ask guards if you got lost. Certainly you are better on mundane physical task better than I am"

Certainly Whiterun has its charm compared to bustling Imperial City back in Cyrodiil. My opinion would be biased though, as the streets were charred from the war, walls residences temples and other public facility under renovation, and graying Emperor Titus Mede II on his puppet throne. Whiterun, in fact, was her polar opposite. The buildings were meager and had enough space between houses to grow trees and patches of flower garden, if not small herb garden and vegetable farm.

Around the well was market. Hunting games, farm products, and baubles are sold daily there. Behind the market was local inn called the Bannered Mare. Every other night the locals would gather and be merry all night long. They would sometime have dinner over there as well. Accompanied by Mikael's angelic voice. Speaking of Mikael…the bard was not exactly popular with the men as he kept seducing their woman. Today…he got into a fight with Jon Battle-born.

I was exchanging information with the man when Mikael came over to the market especially to seduce a beautiful mare, or so he claimed towards Carlotta Valentia. She was a married woman so Jon had told me, but it did not stop Mikael from courting her. She refused the satyr. The bard started on badmouthing her and claiming he would one day ride her as he ride a Whiterun mare. That's when Jon snapped. He approached the lusty bard and punched him in the face. Guards stopped the fight as soon as it got out of hand and both were led towards the keep.

"Goodness…Divines bless Jon, it should not have ended this way" said Carlotta as she caressed her daughter "I am grateful though, that snake tongue dare speaking dirty words in front of Mila …anyway, take these with you. Thank you for helping me rearrange my store. Say hello to Aela for me, would you?"

I left the market following the guards dragging Mikael and Jon towards Dragonsreach. They were brought to the Jarl in person. "Fighting amongst us should be the least of our worries! There are dragons out there and yet you fight over…a what? Mare?!" Jarl Balgruuf was certainly not amused by the chain of event. Even Farengar ceased from his enchanting work when he heard his lord enraged so.

"If I may speak, milord" I said, running towards the throne but reminded myself to keep a good distance away from the Jarl.

"Go on"

"Jon did not mean to disrupt whatever brittle peace we have left. It was just this charming bard had spat improper word in front of children. Especially about she-horse riding. I don't suppose such would be educational" In the end Jon was pardoned and Mikael had to have introspection for a night inside Dragonsreach dungeon.

That was the bustling Plains district. The middle Wind District is mostly occupied by temples and residences whilst Cloud District was especially reserved for Dragonsreach. Gildergreen tree was in the center of Wind District. There the roads would lead to Jorrvaskr, Dragonsreach, or the residential area. Temples available in town was shrine of Kynareth and Arkay. Talos worship was banned after the Gold Concordat but the local priest persisted in preaching His words just below Talos' statue. His voiced his disgust towards the Thalmor, but his objective was true. Though the ever passionate shrieking of his grew annoying eventually. Perhaps this what made the Companions chose to sleep underground.

Would you usually leave the best meat for the last? I did as well. Leaving the juicy apple for the last only to have it snatched from my hands. Damned wolf. I cursed as Vilkas devoured the green apple in front if me. "Your morning walk sure took long enough, girl. Sorting had been done earlier and you were not even there"

"Well…my morning walk did make a certain bard thrown into prison…" I said. The elder wolf - how this one was Farkas' twin I had no slightest idea…they were polar opposite- raised his eyebrow but said nothing. After finishing MY apple, he threw a brown cape and a leather bag filled with a day's ration at me. Stupefied, I wore the cape and clung the bag over my shoulder. "What…are we going somewhere?"

"We're going on a hunt and you…are in my party" he said, smirking. I would have facepalmed.

The elder twin dragged his unwilling apprentice- me- into a hunt. Each morning he would divide the day's work to everyone, making sure each team had at least one member of the Circle. Also grounding anyone not sober. Our supposed third member had hangover therefore the team was down one person. That did not stop him from dragging me into the wilderness though.

"There's word on a necromancer dabbling in bad business in Eastmarch. We're hunting him down" he said with angered voice. Putting on his hood as droplets of water poured from the cloudy sky. I followed suit. Thunderclaps could be heard in the distance.

My earliest memory of the damned northern wolf was my fist landed on his tattooed face. Visiting Jorrvasrk on a whim simply to see how my new friends were doing, I was thrown in a fist fight between a male dark elf and a female Nord. Ria and Farkas saw me and both of them dragged me towards the Harbinger's chamber where the white maned warrior -his name was Kodlak Whitemane afterall - judged my character. Soon he agreed to me joining, even without my consent as mostly was Ria and Farkas' overly excited description of us fighting the giant. A man with exact face as Farkas' voiced his distaste for outsider and that's when Kodlak cheerily decided he could do a mock battle with me.

I could have sworn the elder twin disliked me simply for being a mage. He kept grumbling on about how mage should not be trusted and executed. Racist. Is there any word for discrimination against certain career? Carrist? Occupationist?Oh, right…mage hater. He even voiced his disappointment as he found out I purely relying myself in magic. He didn't approve of my 'fire dance' and not even my bound sword - a spell Farengar gave earlier- conjuration. That's when he had to call me a milk drinker. The next thing I knew was his angry face when I punched his face. I tried to recall what had happened and wrote this entry with help of my new friends account on that day.

Kodlak sat on one of the seats available by the training ground, receiving a tankard of mead from Athis - the Dark elf who go beaten up earlier- , who obviously had been mending to his wounded pride. Farkas rose from his seat by the stone wall and moved by the old Harbinger accompanied by Ria. The girl was training with a wooden practice target. She looked at Vilkas with her usual cheerful eyes wishing him good luck before proceeding in joining the other spectators. Vilkas unsheathed his sword and readied his shield, bidding his spar partner to do the same. He was surprised as I formed two magical swords in her hands, one on each hands. The swords gleamed violet hue due to the magical nature. The spectator 'ooh'-ed at my prowess. Despite my best display, Vilkas was unimpressed. It should have been a show of power instead magic. "Drop your magic and fight seriously, girl"

The newcomer - me- blinked, surprised. Then I realized that I was in the company of fighters not mage. To my dismay, I abolished the conjured weapon and unsheathed a dagger from the hilt. Vilkas had good eyes and could see it too, was basked in magic. He lowered his sword, disbelieving he had excited over the girl. "Enchantments, you cannot do nothing without magic, huh?" . It was supposed to be a statement, but the I took it as a mockery, for obvious reasons. I sheathed my dagger and to everyone's surprise I charged right into Vilkas. I jumped just a few steps away from my adversary and used my leg as a hook and threw Vilkas onto the ground.

He, had no idea what happened. One second he was staring into the emerald eyes of his sparring partner, another he was on the ground looking at the blue sky and me smiling mockingly at him. Clearly the smile said ,"What did you say about magic again?" Vilkas grinned, he quickly slide his leg towards the mine and threw me off balance. The time I used for recovering, Vilkas used his to return to his fighting stance. Just second after he was ready for another round, I launched a kick which he readily received with his shield. Vilkas then proceeded to push me and I was thrown to the other side of the courtyard due to my own force.

To Vilkas' dismay, someone had left his or her sword on the training ground. I took it as a leverage, grabbed the sword, and renewed my attack. That time with a sword on one hand and a knife on the other. I was agile even I said so myself, unlike Vilkas who relied more on his brute strength. I was looking for weak spots between his armor and fighting stance, closing distance whenever possible and landing strikes. Fortunately Vilkas always had the time to deflect my attacks, damn him. Apparently we were natural enemies. If I was agile and always looking for an opportunity to penetrate weak spots, Vilkas used his strength to keep me at bay. While the man struck his enemies with full power, his sword met empty air as I was no longer there.

The fight was long and fierce, as each blow grew stronger each strike. Athis the dark elf was apparent in his bet dealing. His comrades equally bet for Vilkas and the newcomer. As the fight grew longer, more septims thrown into the bet. Although the ones fighting had no idea of this. Farkas and Aela, despite their good relationship with Vilkas, bet for the Cyrodiil Nord. Ria ,however, bet for Vilkas. She was welcomed with grins and teasing elbowings before she cancelled her bet.

Then I used Vilkas' shield as a footing and jumped for an aerial spin before I landed just behind him and launched an attack straight to Vilkas' bare neck. Sensing the immediate attack, he spun around and used his shield to push the me away. I jumped back a few times until I was sure being out of Vilkas' sword range. On my last step, I pressed the ground with my feet and used the return force to charge. Vilkas on the other hand prepared a striking blow towards where I would have stepped on.

"Very well done! That's enough!"

Kodlak's voice penetrated the cheer and metal clashing. The fighters stopped just right before they landed blows to each other, which would be fatal should they were not interrupted. Both parties lowered their weapons. Vilkas sheathed his sword, while I returned the borrowed sword to Ria. Both of us were drenched in sweat and had hurried breaths. We didn't realize how much energy we had wasted before Kodlak stopped us. I was surprised seeing the sun was about to retreat behind the mountains. It certainly did not feel that long.

The betters weren't so happy with the interruption, and Athis had to hand back his septims. Both Vilkas and I looked at each other. A glimpse of his amused expression told me that he no longer felt bitter, nor I. Kodlak personally approved of my skill and let me stay in Jorrvaskr. The old man returned to his quarters afterwards, followed by the other companions clearly disappointed at the stalemate. At least I have somewhere to stay in Skyrim. Somewhere to call home, despite the flea ridden bed.

Farkas and Ria stormed me with soon after. Ria kept asking where I had learnt such footwork. Farkas on the other hand, invited for another spar. Vilkas reprimanded them that the new whelp -me- would still have jobs to do and shooed them. Ria pouted and Farkas voiced his disappointment as they entered Jorrvaskr. When the courtyard was empty at last and the only sound heard was only Eorlund's clashes of steel in the Skyforge (which was silent during our fight), Vilkas continues his brief. I ought to say his sword was less expensive than my enchanted dagger. He was not happy about it.

"Well, look at that damn mage, reviving the dead as if he own the place" whispered Vilkas as we observed a necromancer camp from a cliff overlooking the raid site. There were only three mages clad in black robe and unique skull mark on their chest. A necromancer's trade icon. Why would they walk around announcing themselves with 'Look at me, I'm a necromancer' sign in front of their breasts is beyond me. Like I said, there were small number of the necromancers but the skeletons…were abundant. They chose an ancient burial ground of all places. "So…tell me what you're good at aside from exploding undead"

"If this could prevent you from your endless scowl, then I'll gladly inform you that I am capable in Destruction spells, Conjurations …I'm sure you saw it when we sparred…as well as basic Restoration. Are you happy now?" I said grudgingly, even I approved him did not mean I like his smug personality. "Oh, just in case…I do not. Dabble. In .Necromancy. Do you have it memorized?"

"I'm not some blithering idiot, girl" he grunted, but was still aware of the activities below the cliff. "Restoration? I suppose it's what differ you from the other mages. We don't have enough healers in Skyrim…the last mage I encountered was cut in half" He said the last part as a boast but I paid no interest in it. Knowing his boasting failed, the man continued, "Hmph…now listen well. I'm going to say this just once"

After explaining his strategy, Vilkas pointed to our ambush point. Although we were outnumbered, we managed to kill every single necromancers before the skeletons had chance to strike us. He indeed possess a talent to be a war strategist. The only thing that stopped us from returning to Whiterun was the impending storm.


	5. Blood on The Ice

**I tried experimenting with this one. As usual remind me if I break any lore. **

* * *

Whoever said karma's a bitch, I would like to find the proprietor and thank him. If it's possible I would like to treat him a bottle or two. The merry moments we shared together would be filled with laughter and joyous tales. For the current situation on our hand is the perfect example of vengeful karma. To be exact, not our…but rather for the elder wolf's fate. Currently Vilkas is imprisoned in Windhelm's prison in charge of murder. He's bound for execution ground should I not act soon enough.

It's probably easy for me to desert now. Leaving him into the caring hands of the headsman and his loving axe, getting a carriage to Winterhold, and finally settling down there. Despite that I decided to defend that good for nothing beast, as Vilkas was innocent in this matter. He was not guilty for any murder…or any before it. There had been murders in Windhelm, in which the victims are mostly women and they were viciously chopped to death .Hence, the murderer was nicknamed 'The Butcher'. This piqued my curiosity as it smelled of foul magic at play. That aside, having Vilkas owe me one would be useful one of these days, if not a lifetime favor.

"Don't worry. I believe you. After all, you're only grinding your sword in her loose sheath. Not chopping that woman to death. Still…all that squirming and screaming, someone would think you were killing her" I said, smirking to my senior in the Companion's ranks who was bound behind the bars. He seemed surprised as how I knew what he did the night before, so I continued "After all, that mare riding was extremely overdone, don't you think so? You really…really, like it rough. Here I thought you'd be the gentle type."

"I don't appreciate you peeping my private business, girl" he snarled. I'm pretty sure if he was not bound and locked behind bars he'd happily tear me apart for my insubordination. The elder wolf definitely live up to his name, which meant wolf according to old language of yore. Though at the time he looked rather hilarious as he appeared like a wet dog escaping certain dreadful cold bath, to which I fought not to give in the temptation to laugh. Then he had to mention, "I have…urges as well"

I pretended not to hear the last part, deliberately cleaning my right ear in a furious fashion "Turned out to be good. You have a living witness for your innocence. The Jarl is willing to suspend your execution until I find the real culprit. Till then, enjoy being public scapegoat." I replied defiantly. Vilkas gritted his teeth, he was stripped of his possessions including his set of wolf armor and Skyforge steel sword. If anything, those were the things that should not be separated from him at all costs.

In that prison, he was reduced from gallant knight into a wounded prisoner in ragged clothing. There were still dried blood at the edges of his lips. I could see he was extremely anxious without all that steel covering his flesh and gripping a sword on one hand. Utter humiliation. That I could understand, in the least, for my own treasured inheritance has gone in the flames and turned to ashes in a rather glorious fashion. Generations of knowledge burnt under the black wyrm's maniac roar and magma breaths. I shouldn't tease him further. I handed him a book I had in my possession which he received with bound hands and tried to trace the cover , "What's this?"

"I thought you might be bored in your sleepless nights, waiting anxiously for the execution. So…this might help" I answered confidently, with a hint of sarcasm. He disapproved but appreciated my concern. "I'll try to come by everyday and tell you whatever progress I have. You know…just you don't feel lonely. As fine as these Stormcloaks men are, I don't think they are up for proper conversation"

"You got time for jokes, you got time for investigating" called one of the prison guards. I looked at him apologetically as I didn't think he was listening. The elder wolf snorted and gestured for me to go on my business while he walked sluggishly towards the corner of the cell. Opened the book and started reading.

I was only a couple of steps away when Vilkas suddenly shouted, "Hey! This is 'Immortal Blood'! What in the name of Divines are you thinking girl?!". I laughed out loud and ran out of the prison. I knew he hated that book. My opinion still stands, were Vilkas did not bother taking that slutty Suzanne into his bed, he would never get involved in such petty matters. At least, Nirn is off better with less woman like Suzanne.

* * *

It might good to recall the events that had led Vilkas to his misfortune in the hands of fate. Though the same fate itself dictated that I ought to save him from the execution ground.

The storm descended right after both the elder wolf and I killed every necromancers and their skeleton guardians, as if unleashing its penned up rage against those desecrators. Yes, as if the storm itself would lead them into the deepest pits of Oblivion or perhaps into the hands of ruthless lords of Soul Cairn where their souls will be trapped for all eternity. Such is the fate of necromancers after their worldly demise. I personally wonder what kind of place Soul Cairn is, a journey there would be welcome. Though in living flesh instead of being a soul. All I knew of terrestrial plane was all that was written in my burnt spell book. Though it only contained of Oblivion plane, but it gave distinct description of what one should expect in that forsaken plane. But, I'm getting off topic here.

As we were deep in Eastmarch, it was more sensible to head for the hold's capital instead of returning to Whiterun risking getting sick along the way. As we ran, dense pine forest gave way to snowy highland. White snow covered the ground and the weather grew colder. White clouds appeared before our lips each time we exhaled. Soon enough we saw shadows on the foots of mountain, a huge jagged one. It was the famed Windhelm. Stormcloak soldiers mentioned the hold's capital served as their headquarters. After moments of hastened flight, we reached the gate where the guards was about close the gate as it was growing dark and they did not want risking any shady characters entering the capital. They had doubted out presence as we approached, though the moment they saw Vilkas' wolf armor they quickly changed their attitude. One of them casually tapped the elder wolf's shoulder pads and complimented him for wearing true Nord's armor. The other mentioned for wanting a set of that fine armor, to which Vilkas happily invited the guard to join our rank. He declined as he had an incurable wound in the knee. The Companions were well respected and trustworthy enough that they were allowed entry to any city and village without further questioning.

We entered nearest building, which was an inn called 'Candlehearth Inn'. I had read in 'Guide to Skyrim' that this hall had long history and the famed hearth where the fire never cease to burn. Despite the harsh storm raging outside, I grew calmer as the two of us finally reached safe ground. We entered the lodging and soon warmth met out cold skin. There were a small bar on the first floor and a corridor leading to the rooms. A ladder led to a second story where most of the patrons were. A jolly tavern upstairs with a lot of locals and fellow travelers revel despite the raging storm outside, alongside ever ceasing minstrel melodies. The innkeeper, a kind woman named Elda , offered us dry towels before escorting us to our room which had to be paid in advance. Separate rooms, thank the Divines. After drying my hair and took care that I look presentable to the crowd, I decided to join the populace in the bar upstairs. The elder wolf apparently had the same idea in mind. The two of us sat in front of the ever ceasing hearth, keeping ourselves warm.

An old cook came by and asked if we wanted some warm food. He offered local horker stew, to which we gladly accepted. I expected the stew would be extremely salty, but somehow the cook made it less…saltier and richer. There were hints of sweet juniper berry in it as well. Other patron requested the same menu and joined us in front of the hearth and soon we were engaged in heartening conversation. In less than five minutes I have heard the local rumors and unrest. There were sightings of Imperial types around Dawnstar, a port town due northwest of Windhelm, occasional explosions in Winterhold College, and serial murder intown.

Compared to Bannered Mare, where the bards are jolly and the guests are merry, Candlehearth had gloomy aura about it. Or rather…the people visiting the bar were. Unlike people of Whiterun who celebrates good weather and harvest everyday, these Windhelm populace looked as If they were trying to drown their worries in cold mead. Especially a certain old man at one of the tables in the corner. Judging by his fine attire, he could be one of notable families in the hold's capital. A middle aged woman sitting beside me kindly informed me that he was the head of clan Shatter-Shield…and he recently lost his daughter. Soon enough I found out that the well-informed woman was in fact the town's gossip.

"Did you know? " she said "…the drunk man over there, geez he has such manners when drunk, is the head of clan Shatter-shield. Their daughter, one of the twin..you see, was killed by the Butcher. Her corpse was cut so bad you couldn't even recognize her. I saw it myself…eyes gouged out and ears cut. Can't even imagine that happening to me. Oh, no it's not done yet. No..no, their last daughter is still alive. Even the Butcher would be wary of the student of local embalmer. Death follows her, heh heh. Oh and where were I? Right, even after their loss, there's this swindler couple who came in pretext of friendship…_ONLY TO STEAL THEIR HEIRLOOM HAMMER! Hilarious!_ " Several people looked at her disgustingly, including the drunken clan master. Most of them decided to ignore her. Several travelers commented nonchalantly.

I couldn't even wonder why I engaged in a conversation with the notorious town gossip as she continued her chatter, disregarding mockery and comments made "Oh…and you should also know…" I turned my attention at a bar fight happening between a local Nord and a visiting Imperial. A muscular man grabbed them both and threw them out almost immediately "…ignore them, this happens each other nights. Be careful when you're outside, little girl. This Butcher seems to target young woman. You don't want to be the next victim, right? Oh…and by the way…there's this story about a boy who tries to summon the Dark Brotherhood…but, eh..not too interesting. Ah, this one's better….you see, there's a sick alchemist serving in town. How do you expect curing someone when you're sick? Hilarious!"

"Were you paying attention? Come..come, look at that man by the window. He's Captain Lonely-Gale. Isn't he dreamy?"

I was about to divert my attention to the elder wolf when I realized a fine figurine sat on the handle of his chair, her arms circled around Vilkas' back, her legs casually crossed my senior's, and her bloody red lips ready to spew out poisonous yet sweet words. She dressed lightly which provided excellent view on her curves. She purred and leaned against the elder wolf like a feline would to its master, though it's a rather more amorous. His eyes locked at her slender figure and captivating eyes. Whispering to each other, of scrumptious promises no doubt. Eyes were upon those two, most of them were fiery jealousy. I left my seat and found myself in the presence of a playwright by the name of Adonetto Leotelli. In a quick succession I managed to fend off the town's gossip and ignore intimate moment between the beauty and the beast.

Elda caught the tavern wench flirting as she went upstairs to check on the patrons. She quickly dismissed her and launching reprimands and warnings to fire her should she continue with the misconducts. What the inn proprietor didn't see was that the wench brushed Vilkas' lips with hers and whispered few words as they separated. He then joined the revel around local minstrel in glee. Meanwhile I was stuck with a playwright. Though I enjoyed his presence more than a certain wolf.

"It happens every night, don't pay no mind. She does it for better tips" the playwright explained and he kindly changed the subject. The wench was demoted to the kitchen for the rest of the night and the old cook exchanged her place in taking and delivering order. "Now…did you hear the Festival of Fire is cancelled this year?"

"Oh? The one with burning King Olaf's effigy? I was hoping to visit Solitude for the festival…but… cancelled? Is it because of the civil war?"

"Half of it, yes…but mostly because Solitude's current Jarl, Elisif, is in mourning for her dead husband. The late Torygg. She said it's improper to burn a king in front of the masses. I could see the sense in it, logic of sorrow and anxiety..mostly. It's too bad. The revelry itself is magical in nature, as if Sanguine himself is presence during it. The sheer heat coming from the burning effigy sparked something deep within your soul, burning embers struggling to stay…alive, and sipping good cold meat and rich meat pie…oh and also soothing music from students of Bard College. That is life, friend"

"Now..now…you made me wish that I should have visited Skyrim before this whole conflict started. Wait…you said you're Leotelli?! I've read some of your works! The last one was a real master piece"

"Praise be, I was not sure of the last one! If you could kindly tell me of my shortcomings as well, I would be much obliged"

I spent the rest of the night discussing literature and local festivals with the playwright. Soon the whole tavern wench affair was gone from my mind. That, until I stumbled upon those two stealing moments in the inn's kitchen after the patrons were either retreated to their respective chamber or went home. I looked around for the innkeeper, but she too had already gone off to sleep. Cursing to myself and making a mental note to send application letters to Winterhold College as soon as the dragon mystery is done, I entered my room. Though I could still hear the two coo-ing.

"Not here…" "…Elda…out" "I… perfect…lace""Hold…till then?"

The two left the bar nonchalantly.

Truth be told, I didn't know what crossed my mind when I decided to follow the two. Like me, they pulled their hood so no one could see their faces. They traversed the confusing alleys of the Grey Quarters. The storm has subsided though there were still dark clouds hanging over head. I had my doubts of going into the abysmal alleys. As not to lose my way, I started to memorize the landmarks. Such as Dunmer exclusive tavern at one edge of the slum, for it had two torches lit in front of the store. The dark elves looked at me suspiciously, so I lowered my hood and greeted them. I threw a bottle of ale I purchased back in the inn towards them, and they quickly changed their attitude. One of them even said, 'Glad you're not one of those haters'. After exchanging few jokes, I continued traversing the dark alleys.

It was not long until I heard pants, moans, squirms, grunts, and somewhat disgusting wet sounds of skin grazing and slapping each others. The feminine voice grew louder and louder before it's forcefully muffled, but it was clear that the owner of the voice enjoyed the pain and pleasure her partner inflicted. Perhaps I shouldn't delve any further to describe what happened in the darkest alley of Gray Quarters, though I was tempted to cast a ball of light and expose whatever misdeed the two conducted for the populace to see.

Suzanne the wicked, I remember the town gossip had told me before I left the inn, was never a proper woman. The inn keeper also told me that the girl played flirts for extra septim and was not surprised if she actually took on clients herself. Somehow I plotted for her demise, stealing a ring from a bandit leader, planting it in her room, and if the plan goes well…she would have more men than she could have hoped for. Perhaps slow death from food poisoning? Discourage her ability to procreate? It does looked like she had no need to.

The rhythm grew fast and desperate before they finally released. Their tryst done, they went on their own way. Deciding to ignore the lusty maid, I backtracked my own step and found myself in front of the Dunmer establishment. I quickly engaged myself in a conversation with the two dunmers I made friends earlier. That's when Vilkas approached and made disapproved remark. The two of us returned to the inn, oblivious to sinister action that happened that night.

Suzanne's limp body was found in the town's cemetery early morning, not without its share of screams and were three witnesses claiming a man had assaulted her. As the bar's patron knew who had spent the night with her, they quickly drew conclusion as of who was the culprit. In a quick succession, the local guards raided Vilkas' room and dragged him to the palace, although not without some fight. I followed suit.

The Palace of Kings was a majestic building made of stone. The outer appearance might be harsh, but the interior was warm and welcoming despite the cool color theme used. A long table where the authority would dine situated in the middle of the hall. Guards looked sharp and wary of visitors. At the throne by the other end of the hall was Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak, with his furred black overcoat in its full glory unlike the dusty one on our first meet back in Helgen and steel plated armor underneath the coat, completed with chain mails underneath everything. He looked majestic as a true king should. At his sides were his advisors, a high ranking Stormcloak officer with furred armor, a worried looking retainer…and a familiar looking Stormcloak officer. Only if he had exposed his visage I could have figured out his identity.

The Jarl expressed his disappointment in the Companions and was about to sentence Vilkas to death before I decided to interfere the conversation. Putting on my best etiquette I learned back in Cyrodiil, I called the Jarl "My Jarl, it is good to see you safe and sound" I made my voice loud and clear, it was calm despite the raging waves of fear inside my heart. "I had heard the news of you reaching Windhelm safely, but seeing you in person made me relieved"

The Jarl took a good look at me, then at the familiar looking Nord officer who nodded back, and finally he addressed me, "Oh, I remember you at Helgen. The one whom those Imperials thought as our spy. So you do survived the black dragon…and you joined the Companions? Not a good company nowadays I'm afraid, you must be regretting your choice by now"

"Not my first choice, but I had to make ends meet. Although this meet is enjoyable, your Highness. I am here not to share pleasantries…I would like to defend the offender. If you would listen to my testimony?" The Jarl made me vow in the name of Talos and my honor as a Companion and as a Nord before he let me continue, "I followed this man…because it's my nature to not trust woman …woman such as the deceased. After the deed was done, they were separated ever since…and my senior did not leave the inn again until morning. I could present you two witness of my accord, the dunmer at the Gray Quarter"

"I find it curious why you would go at such a length…but I digress. We never know what goes in these women's head. I find your testimony true, although I can't make sure if those Dunmer are reliable witness of your cause. Especially when they are …drunk." the Jarl crossed his arms, making no effort in hiding is disapproval. For some reason I saw him as a menacing bear, ready to tear everything with his claws.

Curses. I forgot Jarl Ulfric had unlimited animosity towards non-Nords. "I have taken it into account. Therefore my Jarl, I would like to offer you my service in bringing the truth into light. I will personally look into this murder case myself. I shall prove it that my good senior is innocent" Then, the hall was filled with laughter. I wondered if I had made myself a laughing stock.

"Interesting, young Nord. I permit any activity within Windhelm in order to solve this serial murder. Although I have a condition, as well. I would like to assign one of my officers as your …say, observer or assistant…whichever fancies you. He shall report to me, every progress you'll make. Ralof, if you'd please"

"Yes, milord" the familiar looking Nord unequipped his helmet, revealing the visage behind it. It was Ralof, the brotherly Nord who had saved my life when fire rained on Helgen. I extended my arm to greet him, but he didn't bother to shake my hand rather hugged me in a manner a brother would do to his sister. "I'm glad to see you again"

* * *

Windhelm was less menacing and freezing when I had Ralof by my side. Despite their differences in loyalty, Ralof questioned about Hadvar's well being. He was relieved when I informed him that Hadvar was recovering and would return to service as soon as possible. Apparently he had gone up in ranks within Stormcloak after managing to escort Jarl Ulfric to Windhelm safely. That might have been the case, but he continued to treat me as one of his own blood siblings. He expressed his concern about my involvement in the case and my joining in the Companions ranks. I quickly told him the short version of my adventures so far. He claimed that the city-Nord was growing some backbone.

"Anyway, if we managed to solve this case, I'll treat you for a mug or two!" he said as he slapped my back roughly. I stumbled in my steps because of the sheer force. A guard or two in the perimeter laughed. Speaking of guards, the Jarl himself had made it known to the guards of my involvement in the case. They'd give full cooperation regarding the mysterious murders. Having Ralof followed me around was the price for such cooperation and I did not mind it. "Now, now. Let's start by checking the crime scene"

"I agree, the faster I solve this case, the faster I can return to Whiterun. I'm freezing even as we speak"

"Freezing? This is warm, sister. I take back my word of you growing a backbone…and they said Burma was cold, really?"

Under the scarce sunlight that permeated through gray clouds, I had a better view on the ancient city. Most of the houses and other buildings are made of stones. Even the ground are covered in cobblestone pavements. Along the main walls were huge inscriptions of previous rulers of Windhelm and the period of their rule. A large building erected beside Candlehearth inn, it was the Temple of Talos. I felt compelled to pay a prayer, but it had to wait until I solved the case. Ralof led me into an alleyway that led us into a cemetery. It had bleak atmosphere about it. Dried tree and frozen grass were the only plantation decorating the perimeter and they only made everything even more bleak.

"Hmm…I think I prefer Imperial cemetery…" I muttered, but Ralof overheard me and asked what the Cyrodiil would do to their dead "Well, mostly the same, there's hall of dead though mostly reserved for those who had endless pits of septims and those with fancy names. Others had to cope with common graveyard. That's probably where we'll end up"

The cemetery ground was empty, the body had been moved to nearby crypt where the embalmer would prepare for her funeral. Although the grave where she was killed was still bloody. The dried blood smeared the cold stone. Guards were posted there to shoo away the onlookers. Ralof questioned two witnesses and left the last one for me as she was the local embalmer. So I entered the hall of the dead, descending the dark stairs and when I realized the perimeter was too dark for observations I turned on my lantern. Wasting magicka on balls of light is uncalled for after all.

Shadow snaking away at the stone wall, reflecting light coming from the lantern. I traversed the dark corridor alone, and found my way deeper into the hall where I finally found the local embalmer by the name of Helgrid. She looked at me when I approached her. She was busy gutting out innards from the deceased, her hands were crimson red. She willingly traded words with me regarding her testimony and missing internal organs from the corpse. Her belongings were intact. The objective was clearly not robbery but something more sinister. Dancing shadows made the whole matter even more frightening. I took a last glance towards the cadaver that was Suzanne, no one would miss her except those who paid for her sheath. Then I saw my dancing shadows formed a crooked and sinister smile. You are happy, aren't you? She said.

Few moments later I found myself and Ralof speaking in the cemetery ground, trading whatever scarce information we found. The other two witnesses, a beggar and an owner of oddhouse named Callixto ,both told the Stormcloak officer the same testimony that they saw a man struck the girl and ran away from the perimeter the moment the witnesses came for help. Unfortunately they were not fast enough to save the victim's life. I looked at the ground and found trails of blood leading towards the uptown housing. Those houses are indeed more presentable compared to Gray Quarter's slum. Although the fine appearance may conceal dark and sinister nature of a murderer.

"Oh, this house has been empty since the first murder. Perfect for a hideout" Ralof commented when the trail of blood ended in front of a two storied house at the edge of the town. The door was locked, obviously. "Hmm…if you want to level the door, we need permission from Jorleif…and proper equipment. Wait here while I go for him and pay a visit to local blacksmith for some…"

"What business do you have in my daughter's house?" a weary voice called out to us. I looked at where the voice came from. The Nord woman stood in front of neighboring house, looking at us with questioning eyes. When she saw the Stormcloak officer beside me, she exhaled and decided to approach us with a certain glint of glee in her eyes "Oh…oh, is the Jarl finally legalized an investigation on my daughter's murder?"

"Yes, ma'am. With the help of this fine Companion" Ralof answered, gesturing for me to introduce myself. He quickly caught the old woman when she failed her steps. She expressed her gratitude for us to spare time and try finding out the murderer. She lent us the key of Hjerim before leaving and expressed her gratitude over and over. Seeing me baffled, Ralof explained her condition. Apparently it was her daughter's house…before she was killed, although it might had become a certain murderer's lair afterwards.

"Ah…the drunkard clan master's wife…my prayers with her and her family"

"True, and to sprinkle salt on wounds. A couple of goddamned swindlers came and stole their family hammer. Is there justice in this world at all? Fate has not been so kind to the Shatter-shields" Ralof crossed his arms, looking at the disappearing woman. He then threw the set of keys into the air and caught it almost immediately. "Ready? We're going into a madman's house"

The interior was like the exterior, harsh, dusty, abandoned, and forgotten. There were nothing but cobwebs and dust inside the dark house. I turned on my lantern again as it was impossible to traverse the perimeter without light. Even with better lighting no justice could be done against the bleakness. The first story was completely empty save for few broken furniture at several places. That's when we saw glints of reflection coming from red blood. Ralof approached the bloody chest where he found out a certain journal, he also found another in the nearby bookshelf. The two of us read the journal together, which made no sense at all. That's when I realized the entry was written in certain code. Ralof left it for me to decipher.

As the journal could wait until the search was over, I tried my luck at a small cupboard and found a strange amulet with skeleton engraved on the pendant also stacks of announcement from Viola Giordano. It was mentioned in the paper anyone with information on the 'Butcher' should go to her. Making a mental note of interviewing whoever Viola Giodarno was, I handed one of the pamphlet to my investigating partner. He was busy trying to pry open a cupboard then, which gave no intention to let the fine nord view things stored inside. Realizing his endeavor was fruitless, he turned his attention towards the pamphlet instead and grimaced at the name written on it.

"A town gossip. We have told her countless times to stop poking her nose into this Butcher thing, but she would never back down. A good thing the madman gathered this for us. Seems like he doesn't like people prying into his business."

"You don't say, Ralof. Hmm…is this town gossip a middle aged woman? Extremely chattery…or the country term of it…a chatter box? She likes to end her sentences with high pitched - hilarious"

"That's her alright. Met her last night, I see? Condolences. That's a good way to make a bad impression on our city"

"I miss Bannered Mare already. At least, you only need to deal with a flirty bard…who will be quiet once you punch him in the nose"

"Did you mean Mikael? Met him once, poor sod beaten to a pulp by a redguard woman. Serves him right. But no man can punch a woman in the face for gossiping around, now can we?" Ralof said as he tried using his sword to pry open the cupboard which still ended up in vain. A+ for effort though. "Goddamn cupboard. I think I'll go to the smith after all. Let's see if this thing withstand a good steel hammer"

A thumping voice. The sound came from upstairs, the only place we had not bothered to investigate yet. The two of us exchanged looks and went upstairs together. I doused my lantern whilst Ralof led the host upstairs with his sword unsheathed. Ready to lob a criminal's head off. With another melee fighter ready in front of me, I readied my illusion spell…a fear spell. If the convict's will was not strong enough, the spell would make him scared to death. That's when Ralof would either kill or apprehend him. Any will do, as long as it brought the accursed affair to an end. Then again, it could be a mere thief trying his luck in an abandoned home abode.

Unfortunately there were nobody upstairs. Only wreckage remaining from whatever furniture that once filled the house. Chairs and tables overturned. Cupboard cut into pieces. Strange placement of the bed and blots of dried blood on the perimeter and on the dirty sheets. One could only wonder what the crazed criminal had done before he killed the women. We did another round in the house, making sure we did not miss anything. There were nothing else but a tightly locked cupboard. Ralof made a note to himself for bringing tools to break the cupboard. We went out the tragic dwellings and was about to go to Candlehearth for a quick break when three Stormcloak officers approached us.

"Ralof! Good to see you! We spotted an Imperial Camp nearby, we need every sword arms we have"

"Of course you'll have mine, brothers. A minute, please" said Ralof as he handed me the journals he found before, and strictly warned me "Wait for me before continuing the investigation, are we clear? Don't make yourself suspicious or the killer will find you. That's the last thing both of us wanted. Wait for me"

I nodded, "Don't worry. I don't plan to become the fourth victim. Go have fun with the Imperials, meanwhile I'll try and decipher these journals"

With that, he took off for a fight with the Imperials. I sighed. Of course a serial murder is not as prioritized as a war with the Imperials. I put the journal into my back and decided to follow Ralof's advice, despite myself….despite the wolf's suffering from humiliation. Seeing that there were nothing else that I could have done, I locked Hjerim's front door. As I retreated from the front door, I felt a menacing presence nearby. A familiar Imperial had been observing my actions from an alleyway between houses and turned away as I realized his presence. It was Calixto. I dismissed him as a curious person at that time, which turned to be the death of me.

Patting my leather bag, making sure the killer's journal and a pamphlet Viola Giordano wrote was inside, I walked down the uptown and went to Windhelm market. Like any town market would, local market had various stalls selling daily needs: food ingredients, swords and armor, and also potions. Sounds of hammering steel mixed with the peddlers offering their merchandise. Perhaps the establishments proprietor was shadier than those in Whiterun. I couldn't bring myself to trust the butcher, not because of 'The Butcher' but rather questioning his meat's freshness. Not to mention the sickly local alchemist. Bickering smiths didn't help at all.

Anyway, I made a round along the market. The smithery took my attention and I paid a visit to the master and students bickering over a lost smithing hammer. They made fine steel and claimed to be better than Eorlund gray-mane. To be honest, the old man's crafts were in a whole different level than other blacksmiths. Nevertheless, I handed the master smith my enchanted dagger and asked him to repair it as the dagger was cracked when I tried to defend myself against skeleton soldiers the day before. Whilst waiting I traded information with the smith's apprentice as she was willing to tell me whatever she knew about the serial murder. Not much.

Approaching a green grocers, I observed almost frozen vegetables. With the colder climate, the ingredients were harder to spoil in the least. Tova Shatter-shield was standing beside me all the time I was observing the vegetables' quality before I realized that she wanted to talk. Obviously about how the investigation went. I had heard from Captain Lonely Gale her daughter was the first victim. Hey eyes were baggy and alcohol reeked in her breath. She was deeply depressed from Friga's untimely passing.

Though there were slight glitter in her eyes, a glimmer of hope, which was an improvement than the Tova I saw earlier that morning. The woman was weary from sleepless nights and drown in alcohol, denying the fact and living in the past. The investigation would impact her life more than I could predict.

"Madame Shatter-shield, was it? Thank you for allowing us entry into Hjerim" I greeted her. She raised an eyebrow in confusion as the nord in front of her had foreign accent. That was no longer a surprise to me. I handed her Hjerim's key, but she indicated I should keep it for the rest of investigation.

"Not a native Nord, I see" she answered and I nodded. She was kind enough not to investigate any further "Anyway, it's the least I could do to assist. Do whatever you could to avenge the daughter of mine" It was obvious she was forcing herself even to talk to me. It was hard for a mother to bury their own daughter. A similar faced young Nord was standing behind her, her daughter, looked concerned so I decided to cut off the conversation.

"I'm grateful for it. Lastly, I wonder if you know about this amulet…and where to find whoever wrote this pamphlet"

"Oh, I don't know about it, what do you think, Nilsine?" Tova handed the other daughter the amulet and pamphlet.

"I can't help with the amulet, your best bet should be Callixto's or Sadri's down in Grey Quarters. For the pamphlet on the other hands… you can find Viola Giordano in Candlehearth Hall after sun down. She's our town gossip. You should have met her" Remembering the tactless gossip on my first night in Windhelm, I nodded. The grieving mother and daughter expressed their support on my investigation before going on their way, the weary old woman leaned on her daughter sadly.

* * *

The first thing I did was throwing the book I purposely bought into Vilkas' face as he was leisurely playing cards with guards who were off duty. To my dismay, he caught the book easily and laughed then indicated for me to sit beside him and grabbed a set of cards. I obeyed. On the way to Windhelm barracks where Vilkas was held - as the cells were installed there as well- I stumbled upon Jarl Ulfric and his retainer Jorleif in the throne room. I was compelled to make reports. The two were satisfied of the progress and left it for me to decipher the journal and appraising the amulet for the authority was busy dealing with Imperial spies. They weren't wondering why Ralof were not present as well. Typical but not surprising. After all, murder was trivial compared to a mini scaled land dispute.

"So?" Vilkas asked after I told him the investigation's progress "You're asking me to help with the journal?" Casually struck his opponents with four of a kind. The other three participants wailed for their ultimate loss whilst Vilkas grinned and shoved septims towards his side of table.

"If you want to get out of Windhelm, sure. But I see you're comfortable enough with these Stormcloaks and even play cards with them. I suppose I could leave you to your fate and be off to Winterhold. I believe it's only a stone throw from here" I took out parchments, inkwell, and quills then set them on the wooden table. The guards, depraved of their weekly septims, walked away sluggishly towards their bunks. "How carefree, I wonder what happens if the Butcher goes after their girlfriend. Oh, never mind… he did kill everyone's"

"You're unusually sarcastic today" Vilkas commented as he dipped the tip of his quill and started scribbling on his parchment. He managed to find patterns in the so-called coded journal in a quick succession and scribed down the deciphered words and sentences. Looking at me, amazed at his quick wit, he explained "A lot of orders came our way in this fashion, Skjor and I are the one in charge deciphering these. I suppose I should add you to it as well"

"I don't think I have a knack for it" I replied, looking at the amount of decoding I did, which was less progressive than my partner's.

"It's... better than others…" he dragged his voice as he said that. When he finished deciphering, he frowned "What in the name of Divines…you're in for a worse situation that we initially thought. Look here, it's a record on stalking the victims…also ingredients of some necromancy ritual. We're dealing with Necromancers again…mages…goddamn them all to Oblivion"

I coughed.

"Anyway" Vilkas continued "This journal also mentioned something about Winterhold. Apparently our necromancer here had been a member of the College. Maybe if we can get names on those expelled…nah, too roundabout. There are probably too many…and not to mention we could have killed some yesterday"

A Stormcloak approached our table at that time, judging from his wobbly feet and reddish nose, it was obvious that he had spent his off-duty hour drowning himself in mead "Hey, are you the investeegator? *hic* someone paid me good septims for this *hic* letturz to *hic* your hands"

Grabbing the letter and watching the drunken officer swayed his way towards nearest empty bunk, I opened the mysterious letter. Wondering who might sent me… or us letter. The first thing that came to my mind was Skjor and the other Companions. That reminded me that the two of us had not returned after the hunt was complete. With all the unfortunate events surrounding Windhelm and somehow involved the two of us -most of it was Vilkas' fault, I swear… - we didn't get to return or much less sending the dire news. Sending a letter reporting what had transpired did not cross my mind at all. Another possibility was that Farengar had dug enough information on dragons and made some progress on the research. Though the latter was unlikely, it was possible still.

What I saw was not Skjor's reprimands nor Kodlak's worried letters, not even Farengar's furious words, but rather sent by an anonymous who didn't like my presence in the hold. There were only two words on the parchment, which gave me goosebumps. The elder wolf quickly grabbed the letter off my hands and threw it into nearby fireplace. The ruckus had the Stormcloaks turned their attention towards us.

There were only two words…written in blood , "_Stop meddling_"

* * *

The alleyway of Gray Quarters was unusually empty that night, the only voice I heard was my own footsteps echoing in the dark alley's cobblestoned pavement. At this time of the night, the Dunmers would be gathering in the New Gnisis Cornerclub with few Nords screaming insults and mockery just outside the establishments. The other races would gather at Candlehearth Inn for its cold mead. I tried finding the way back to the Cornerclub, in the least, but the labyrinth like alleyways had eluded me from escaping the darkness and a certain sinister presence behind me.

It was faint, at first. It had been following me the moment I stepped my foot in Candlehearth Inn for the first time, also during my excursion with Ralof as we tried to solve the serial murder case, but the presence was even obvious the moment the sun retreated behind the mountain range and gave way to jet black night where no moon shone above. Dark moon. Ominous night with no moon and stars as dark clouds soon covered the last twinkling stars. A perfect night for murder.

I tried not to run, for doing so will alert the sinister presence. It would know I had realized its presence. Cursing at myself as I had left my lantern back in Candlehearth, I tried remembering the landmarks in the alleyways. Unfortunately I could find none that would lead me back to the main roads. I was tempted to stop and ponder, but doing so would brought the sinister presence nearer. The presence was frightening as I imagined a large man with a cleaver on one hand and a sinister shaped dagger on the other, grim shaped mask covering his face but not concealing his murderous aura about him. Who would conceal such terror in front of a frightened victim. They enjoyed the girls' scream and pleas for help.

A sense of panic rose within my chest. I didn't realize my pace was getting faster and my breaths became hurried. Puffs of white clouds left my trail in the dark alleyway. A mistake. The sinister killer had known it. He knew I am aware of his presence. His murderous aura overwhelmed me. My fear overcame reasoning and I started to run. Despite my ability to weave magic, but what could it have done when facing a certain cold blooded killer with cleaver on one hand? Or perhaps both? Yes…the killer had decided I was to be disposed of soon, as I had been too deep into the case. It was so close for capturing him…but he…I had become his prey instead.

Run. Run. Run. I ran despite running out of breaths. The chill air hurt my lungs. My legs were hurt from too much running. I was never…ever the one with good stamina. Oh, how I lamented for ignoring Vilkas' pesters for footwork trainings. The only sound was my own footsteps running onto stone pavement and another sound…was footsteps which was not my own. It's pace was slower than mine, obviously enjoying my fear and paranoia. Appeared in my mind was a sinister smile, eager to tear off a maiden's flesh.

Were I calm, I could have remembered every spell incantations I had learnt. Alas, fear has clouded my judgments. Hoping for meeting any patrolling guards, I turned in every corner and looked out for bizarre shaped helmets and blue tabards. Alas, the Stormcloaks are mostly gone from the city as they had 'friendly' chat with the Imperials. I suppose even the officials are gone as well.

.Run. I ran until I ran out of breath, until my leg finally gave up, my muscles hurt, and my lungs seemed to be ripped apart. Would I die there? In the middle of dark alleyways no one cared to traverse in? Chopped to death and my internal organs taken for necromancy business? The presence was behind me, I could feel his intense murderous aura. But why he didn't kill me already? Ah, he was waiting for me turn around and show him my fear. I won't. I won't.

I won't let him have the pleasure of it. I renewed my effort in escaping. My right hand tracing the stony walls of the alleys. The clouds dissipated, letting in scarce light. I finally found different roads than before. Perhaps it would led me to my freedom, if not a patrolling guard or a company of Dunmers. Soon light was taken away once again. But at least I was not trapped in a looping alleyways as I was running in a familiar place. I reached Sadri's Used Ware store I visited earlier in the day to find if he knew about the amulet. He didn't. His store was right in front of the bewildering alleyways' entrance. I was halfway to freedom. I only needed to traverse more alleys, but a rather more familiar one, in order to reach the Cornerclub.

The killer knew I was on the right track and he fastened his pace. I wanted to knock on Sadri's door for help, but with the approaching crazed criminal, I could not risk it. I continued my flight, but that time with better judgments. Hope had cleared my mind off fear. There were still hints of it, but it was better than minutes ago where I had lost all hope. Reminding myself of the elder wolf waiting for me inside Windhelm dungeons, I renewed my promise. That moment I finally remembered my spells. So I turned back and prepared fire balls. No..not fire spells. It could burn the entire town. The slum was prone to fire as they were built clumsily from gathered woods. I changed to lighting spells.

Yes. Lighting. These fine thunders would also drain away their magicka. I turned back and launched a bolt into the dark. No scream. Nothing. Was the presence was my imaginations all along? No. No. It was real. After all I could hear his footsteps and eager breath. The sinister presence was there, the murderous aura was even greater than before. My legs trembled and my voice shook. Nevertheless I renewed my spell castings and about to launch another bolt…

…when a small knife landed on my shoulder. I screamed. The cut was deep. I was wondering if my scream at least alerted the residents. Alas, storm had descended once again. As if the sky itself wanted me dead. Harsh wind muted my screams. I took the small knife off harshly and put my spell arm on to the wounded flesh, I started healing incantations as I stepped back from the approaching murderer. But there were no light appeared from my hand. I looked at the knife on the stone pavements. The edge was red from my blood. Despite that I could see bluish gleam on it. Poison and magicka drain enchantments, I cursed. In the edges of my vision and hearing…I saw black shadow hovering over Windhelm and muffled roar in the heavens.

I stepped back as my consciousness started to waver. My vision grew blurred, not only caused by snow storm. A figure appeared before me and I immediately frozen in terror. A sinister dark clad man with sinister smile appeared before me, moonlight snuck between dark clouds and shone over his visage. His face was twisted so, crooked smile decorated his face, a pair of open wide crimson orbs glaring at his would be victim, crooked neck, a cleaver on each hands…he… didn't have only a pair of arms but rather four of them. He had one broken leg that he dragged his feet when it's moving, though his speed was inhumanly possible. It's smile grew wider the closer he approached his victim. He was close enough that I could see his lips was sewn together.

I ran…and ran. Until finally…finally the paralytic poison had spread across my veins and rendered my senses useless. I was cornered in a dead end where my legs finally gave up. I sat there, knowing the impending death. But, in the least, I won't give into fear. The killer grabbed by hair and exposed my neck where I felt cold steel and a slight pain. Drops of blood flowed from a small wound he opened. Even with my blurred sight I could tell he was looking for hints of fear. He whispered with his crooked smile.

"_I told you to stop meddling, didn't I_?"

Before I could register what he could have meant, his three other arms embraced me with sharpened cleavers. The last thing I saw was crimson blood moon.

* * *

"_Beware~beware~the dragonborn comes_"

The bard's voice was the first thing I heard as I laid on my bed, eyes awake and my breaths unstable. I looked at wooden ceiling instead of crimson moon and laying on what stalks bed instead of cold cobblestone. Absent mindedly I reached for the places where I was stabbed seconds ago. There were no wounds nor blood flowing. Finally it came to me that I was simply dreaming. A truly dreadful nightmare. My right hand reached for a book I put under my pillow just as I was drifting off into realms of dreamers. "Horrors of Castle Xix". I threw the book angrily and it thudded against the wooden door. Only it didn't hit the door but rather the person who opened it.

"Ouch, that hurts Sister" a familiar voice greeted me. Ralof. He took the book off the floor and skimmed the pages. "What? Did the writer pulled a bad ending on you?"

"The bad ending was in my head, Ralof. I had nightmares thanks to it" I answered his inquiry, annoyed, and rose into sitting position. Reading horrors before a good night sleep didn't help me averting my mind off the case, only plunging me even further into insanity. I stood up ,walked sluggishly towards nearby water bowl, and finally slapped some cold water into my face. My mind was finally clear enough after freezing my skin and brain. Sighing, "At least I didn't read Immortal Blood. That book had worse effect than making inconvenient dreams on occasion"

"I remember getting spooked by Bleak Falls Barrow during my childhood. You know…that ruins overlooking Riverwood. Books like this was no rival to real life walking dead sleeping inside the crypt juuust…outside your bedroom" Ralof giggled, remembering his carefree childhood back in his hometown. "I remember ma and da telling me those skeletons would walk in the streets after sun down"

"You must have been a naughty boy for your parents to tell you such stories"

"Believe me, Hadvar and I made the adults panicked on daily basis" he laughed, but stopped right after mentioning his childhood friend. "Come on, let's get some grub for lunch. You should try our local mead. Black Briar is too fancy for our tastes"

Soon enough the two of us occupied one of the tables available at the Hall's second story. Since it was almost mid-day, there were few patrons in the taverns including off duty stormcloaks. Some of them greeted or teased Ralof as they passed by or offering tankards of local Nord mead. A perfect compliment of bread, stew, and baked potatoes we had for lunch. Sometimes I missed the mellow taste of Skingrad's wine and the local seared duck. Then again, I was no longer in Cyrodiil. The tavern itself was in uproar as Suzanne was not there, and the whole town knew what happened to her. The darling of the hall was killed in cold blood. Most of them was men, obviously had a taste of her sheath.

Elda on the other hands, felt no remorse at all. Since her work doubled because of the passing wench. A parchment was plastered on the wall of the tavern. A job vacancy for tavern maid. Well paid, free lodging, and meals provided for lunch and dinner. The old cook ran here and there catering the patrons' need, even the minstrel stopped from singing and did manual labor instead.

We quickly traded notes regarding the murder. I showed him what Vilkas and I could decipher from the journals found in Hjerim. The first journal was about sick observation on Suzanne the wicked. It specifically mentioned her perfect strong loins, her usual night walk route, and the killer's failed attempts at killing her. The second was not less disturbing, as it was a list of ingredients needed for a necromancy ritual. Both of us grimaced at the hard truth.

"Well this is disturbing" Ralof said as he pushed his unfinished bow of venison stew, the necromancy business disturbed him much that his stomach refused any more food. "Who or what in their right mind trying to do? And you asked why mages has low standing in Skyrim?"

"Oh, you haven't met the worst type of necromancer yet. Imperial University had it worse back in Oblivion Crisis. The order almost fell not only by those accursed gates but also a cult of necromancer trying to topple it down. Still, this involved normal citizen…" I replied nonchalantly. "This leaves us the town gossip and the mysterious amulet. I tried Sadri earlier and he didn't give me satisfying answer. He promised to look into it though…while Callixto refused to say anything but tried to buy this off my hand…and apparently was not here for the night"

"Makes sense, Captain Lonely Gale was nowhere to be seen" commented Ralof before finishing his tankard of local mead. Seeing his tankard empty, Elda approached us and offered to refill, which Ralof accepted graciously. He then looked at my puzzled expression ," It wasn't obvious to you? The cougar chased after our good captain…in layman's term…she wants to get into his pants"

"Oh…OH" the emphasis on the last part was not a surprise, but rather a sarcasm. "Can we move on? This cougar business makes the mead taste bad"

"Of course, which reminds me…why did you go on the investigation solo? I thought I told you not to" Ralof reprimanded me for going off on my own.

"My apologies, but at least we have some advantage compared to yesterday. If we could find the dirt on this amulet…we could trace back to the owner. Now the problem would be who in Skyrim have the ability to appraise this" I retorted back.

Ralof disapproved but gave a ready solution, "I saw a Khajit Caravan camping just outside the walls, by the farmlands. They've seen a lot of merchandise…so perhaps we could…"

"Ralof, the Imperials are marching towards Dawnstar!"

"You know the drill, sister" he glared at me before joining the host, warning me not to do the investigation without him. Which…I disobeyed nonchalantly. For one thing, I didn't tell him about the warning letter on purpose. Lest I would be locked up inside Windhelm barracks for my own safety.

* * *

The outskirts of Windhelm looked better under mid-day sunlight. White snow reflected the sunlight and made my sight rather blurry from all the light permeating the air. Gate guards warned me not to wander too far from their sight as there were news of Imperial Camps nearby and approaching army towards Dawnstar. They also mentioned of hearing thundering roars last night and presumed the dragon that attacked Helgen was nearby. Murderer, dragons, and civil war. There was nothing good happening in Skyrim. Except for Bannered Mare, perhaps.

Wet cold snow landed on my wheat colored hair, I turned back and found few children laughing. Those imps. I grabbed some snow, formed a small ball with it and threw it towards the little monkeys. They evaded It easily, laughing and grinning. In a quick succession the stoic guards and stable boys joined in the fray and there were no sides of the 'war' at all as everyone was busy throwing snowballs at each other. At least there were still these kind of good things happening, the children.

A grey maned Khajit welcomed me into their humble caravan, offering warm drinks and a seat by the bonfire. The feline like people had been watching the snowball fight earlier and was highly amused. They made warm drinks and offered anyone freezing for a quick sip. The guards stayed vigilant despite the friendly presence, for the Stormcloaks had little faith of other races. Remembering my initial intention of visiting the khajit caravan, I addressed the feline merchant.

"How are you with appraisal business?" I asked the grey maned khajit sitting in front of his tent, which filled with various merchandise. Swords and armors: iron, steel, and metals I never saw before, exotic weapons of redguards - the so called curved swords that became a good sport amongst the guards- soul gems: both empty and charged, books - which titles came to my attention-, and few others food ingredients. The feline merchant looked at me, smiling. I knew his intention and crossed his palm or paw with few septims and handed him the amulet.

The merchant's whisker moved uneasily as he appraised the mysterious amulet that eluded even Sadri and Callixto. "My…my, where did you stumble upon this? This is not something you can casually show around or wore around your slender neck. What is this? Why…this is necromancer's amulet. I don't pry into this somber business, so I won't buy this off your hands. A collector perhaps, but not traveling merchant. Too risky…and don't bother telling me what affair you're involved in. Not interested in getting my whisker mixed in"

"Fair enough. I have no intention of either. Just…who…even I know what this is, if I could not trace whoever own this…"

"Easy, that would be that old coot, Wuunferth" a high pitched voice spoke behind me, I turned around. It was the town gossip, Viola Giordano. She wore furred overcoat and fancy furred hat. Were not for her tanned skin, one could mistook her for a bear. She grabbed the amulet and my parchments containing the deciphered journal. She started her own monolog regarding the serial murder case. The feline merchant, covered his ears, clearly didn't want to be bothered. "Yes…yes! This makes sense, the only mage in this city is that Wuunferth the Unliving! He does suspicious research as well, all those smell and explosions!"

"Excuse me, madame. Don't go accusing people" I retorted as I took my belongings.

The woman pouted and looked at me in underestimating manner, as if she was far superior. She put her hand on her hips and started her deduction of the whole affair. "See girl, the journal mentioned something about Winterhold. The only one with such connection is our Court Mage see? It's a public secret that he once was a member of the College…and I see no other mage around. Also as a Court Mage he has access to everywhere in the city without rousing suspicion! Hilarious. Thinking he could get away with it!"

"Well you have ME"

"You weren't here on the first and second murder, girl. Don't start talking nonsense." the town gossip crossed her arms. "If you would not, then I will bring light to this murder. I'm going for the Jarl. Thank you for your cooperation dear"

With that she took flight towards the keep. I was left there, baffled, thinking that the Jarl would never take her words seriously. Though my ignorance would cost us another soul lost. The moment the boorish woman went away, the feline merchant uncovered his ears and started picking it. He then rummaged through his merchandise and offered me a bottle of fine Skingrad red. His smile revealing greedy fangs.

I threw some septims and grabbed the bottle. Then ran towards Viola Giordano who was halfway through the bridge. I ran towards the bridge, used the upper ramparts for less traffic and jumped off at the end of trail. I landed right on front of the town gossip. Though I would have better entrance if I hadn't been so breathless. "No, wait. You cannot simply accuse the Court Mage! You don't even have proof if the amulet belongs to him!" I reprimanded Viola Giodarno as she walked towards the gate.

"Well, let's ask an expert. To Callixto!" She took a hold of my arm and dragged me towards Callixto's oddhouse at the edge of Windhelm. She did not even bother knocking and barged into Callixto's. The owner didn't do any effort in hiding his annoyed face nor did the other room occupant: Sadri. The town gossip looked satisfied with the unfolding event and swung the amulet in front of the Imperial and Dunmer's confused faces.

The two looked at me, who ran out of breath and quickly changed their attitude, they became more sympathetic. Getting dragged across town by a town gossip would be the last thing in their black book. Sadri was the one who spoke first, "Well…I asked few sources of mine and found out it's a Necromancer's Amulet. Quite a find our Butcher here"

"I knew that much. Is there anything that could lead to the owner?" the town gossip eagerly inquire.

"If it's really Necromancer Amulet, then it's Wuunferth's. The Court Mage has been dabbling in bad business, did you know that? He ordered some books on Necromancy. I can show you some of the bills and records" the Imperial walked towards his business ledger, browsing the previous dates until he found Wuunferth's name. "There… 'Banishing of Necromancy in Cyrodiil', dated a month ago"

"That's from before the first murder! Wait…he also ordered another book from me…I think it's 'Necromancer's Moon' or something along that line…I think I still keep the record book!" Sadri joined in the investigation eagerly. The three finally found the link and decided the Court Mage was the Butcher whilst I was not convinced one bit.

"Then it's settled. You girl, and Callixto! Come with me to the castle. While you…" the town gossip pointed at Sadri, who didn't like to be treated that way "get your record and meet us in the castle. We'll bring this murder to a close"

Much to my dismay, the Jarl did believe Viola Giordano and her company. He quickly incarcerated the Court Wizard and sent him into the cells. Vilkas was released from custody and got his belongings returned. The elder wolf never looked so gleeful after he equipped his Companions wolf armor. With his pride restored, he marched out the barracks with extra septims in his pocket and grunting Stormcloak soldiers cowering in their bunks.

I still could not fathom in the logic. The Butcher's journal mentioned links to Winterhold indeed proved the culprit to be a mage in nature, but the necromancer amulet did not have to be Wuunferth's belonging. It could be any necromancer's. I could not shake up the thought if the whole journal and amulet was simply a bait to accuse a Court Mage.

* * *

It was a misty and silent morning when a woman's shriek broke the peaceful silence. Turned out that the murder was not solved at all for the smith's apprentice had found Viola Giordano's limp body on the market ground the moment she went out her home for a morning practice. What she found was not the chatter box but rather a broken one, with eyes bulging out their sockets, limbs chopped in pieces, huge slash wound on her belly leaving the insides on display…which was not much for viewing as her innards were taken away.

The market was closed for the day as guards and local embalmer worked on to move the lifeless body towards the halls of dead and I stayed on the crime scene trying to find traces of the murderer. Another incident without witness, only the smith's apprentice who was still shocked. Anyway she had given her testimony on how she had found the corpse. There were no benefit in keeping her close.

I looked around the empty market. The only sound was coughing voice coming from the alchemy shop. The other stalls were empty as the peddlers decided to take a day off and spend their day in the tavern instead. The sky was gray, telling of impending storm. Then I looked at the blood splattered around the ground. They formed curious shape. The moment I realized what the shapes meant, I retreated from the perimeter.

"_Last warning: Leave or be the last sacrifice_"

* * *

The four of us gathered inside Wuunferth's room in the keep. The Court Mage had taken the case personally for it had caused his incarceration. As brief as it was, it was humiliating for someone as educated as him. It was true that he had paid attention to Necromancy, but it was more to the cases where Necromancy was banned in Cyrodiil. Speaking of incarceration, Vilkas also took this personally. He clearly stated that he would pull out the Butcher's intestines with his bare hands. Ralof also muttered some improper words that I would never write, as I prefer to keep his brotherly image intact…unlike some stray wolf.

It's true that the two were released from custody, but Jarl Ulfric did not want to take chances. Therefore there would be always an extra guard or two in whichever room we were in. In that case, Wuunferth's laboratory. It was dimly lit and quite small compared to Farengar's. There were several books with interesting title, most of them related to Necromancy banning three centuries back. Several others were about Destruction school. I should remember to borrow some after putting a conclusion to this whole Butcher affair. An enchanting table erected in the middle of the room, though a number of scrolls were scattered on the surface. With all the strange apparatus and learning subjects, one could only wonder what kind of experiment the old court mage was concocting.

Wuunferth sat on his bed, massaging his hurt wrist. His arms were bound so he could not cast any magic. Been there, done that. Both Vilkas and Ralof were munching on dried bread with sliced horker meat in between loaves. A makeshift breakfast after being alerted so early in the morning. Two Stormcloak officers shifted uneasily, for being in range of two spellcasters did not amuse them. The Court Mage put no effort in showing his disapproval. Clearly he didn't like people intruding his working space or personal space in this case as the laboratory also served as his private chamber.

Whilst they were doing whatever amused them, I explain what I knew from the investigation and evidence gathered. Though most of it led to Wuunferth's unjust punishment. Suzanne's murder, missing internal organs, intact belongings, Viola Giodarno's pamphlet, the Butcher's journal, the Necromancer's amulet, and events that led to current situation. Suffice to say, there were no other lead aside from the warnings written in blood. Viola's blood. She was a town gossip and could be unbearable at times, but it's unjustifiable to kill a person. Not in the manner the Butcher killed her. No one should be treated so…well, except for Suzanne perhaps.

"There's no other lead, then. How do you expect to find the culprit? We can't create evidence out of thin air" Ralof commented, completely not amused and irritated. Everyone in the hold felt the same thing. Even the Jarl actually shifted his attention from being a racist and attended to this murderous affair for once. He ordered the patrols to be doubled, be it night or day. Funny they decided to take matters seriously after four people were killed. "The journals and amulet were bait for framing Wuunferth, I apologize on the behalf of my men, and the other is a warning to stop investigating"

"Warning? Why weren't I informed?" Vilkas interjected, shooting angered look at me.

I glanced at him and replied calmly, "As far as I remember , you were busy extracting septims from those poor officers down in the barracks. So I thought…why bother?" At that point, I expected both Ralof and Vilkas to laugh but only Wuunferth snorted from my witty comment. The two on the other hands, disapproved of my actions. "Sorry, that was uncalled for. Anyway, I didn't want to worry any of you. Besides, I'm pretty sure I would be incarcerated as well should I inform you of this warning"

"We could have appointed an escort…wait, I'm supposed to be the escort" Ralof said awkwardly. He went silent for a moment "Point taken. Now back to the topic, we don't have any lead towards the culprit at all…nor his motives"

"As for motives, I have some theories ready" Wuunferth joined in the conversation after lighting up his pipe. The court mage inhaled and exhaled white puffs of smoke, filling the room with milky white clouds. "If this man is practicing necromancy, he'd probably trying to resurrect someone…could be lovers or perhaps a historical person. Or worse, he's trying to summon a daedra within our midst. Question is: why?"

"Or…who? One could think it's an Imperial spy" Ralof suggested.

"Let's try putting war aside, Ralof" I reprimanded him "The most logical choice here, is he's going to summon a Daedra…probably Molag Bal, considering choice of victims. All of them were female. We all knew that one has extremely notorious reputation. By the Gods, I'm not going to imagine what he's doing to their souls. Except for that tavern wench, she deserves it"

"Not going to back down from that one, are you?"

"Nope, enjoy. Now let's start from the very beginning. Let's try finding similarities between murders. All of them were females, of various race and caste. Murdered in the night, probably as they were going home. Belongings intact….and Ralof could you give me a timeline when they were murdered?" I turned towards Ralof, who readily gave the answers.

The Court Mage suddenly stood up from his bed and started rummaging through his drawers. He set aside few dusty books and parchments until he found a constellation chart. He muttered to himself for a while and he snapped his fingers, obviously finding a light in the midst of our confusion. "Yes…yes, judging from the pattern of murders so far, I have found out when he's going to strike. It will be three days from now on. The stars are aligned and there will be no moon, not even one. Not only it gives him cover of darkness but also a perfect time to summon a daedra"

"Good, we'll double the patrol at that night" Ralof stood up and was about to bark orders to the officers outside the room when Wuunferth stopped him from doing anything. The Stormcloak officer raised his eyebrow as he turned towards the Court Mage, confused. The older man walked to and fro, delving deep within his well of knowledge before addressing the young officer. He snapped his fingers the moment an euphoric blast of ideas dawned upon him.

"No, we'll lose chance of capturing him at all. He'll just delay the summoning or even canceled it. This is the perfect chance. It's this one time or none at all. Remember in the journal, he said that one time he was about to strike but he encountered a guard. He's not one to risk his plan for a fool's errand"

"Fine by me, but how do you suggest capturing him? We can't simply use a bait. We don't even know how he chooses his victim. All we know that he killed and takes some wench's organ randomly. We can't afford a fifth victim now"

"Don't worry, I know who's the next victim" I interjected, three faces turned towards me. Guards posted outside the room also peeked inside as they heard my statement.

"Really?"

"He said I'm the last sacrifice"

* * *

Tap. . There were no other sounds but my own footsteps, the sound of boots hitting the stone cobblestone in the midst of night. Dark cloud covered the sky, depraving Windhelm citizen of proper vision. Most of them took a stroll outside bringing a lantern or torch. These people normally would gather in their respective taverns during stormy nights, for it provided better warmth and crowd. Although it was not the case that night, as the populace was extremely afraid of the Butcher they decided to stay at home.

Crackle. Crackle. Voice of crackling embers could be heard as I passed a better lit alleyway in labyrinth like Gray Quarters. Shadows dancing under torch light, forming sinister form one could mistook as a specter. Though the incorporeal beings could only be found outside city walls….or inside a hall of dead. A new voice registered into my ear. Another footsteps. It was not a sinister one as I had experienced in my own nightmare. I knew the proprietor was a human being, not a crooked monster with a cleaver on each hand. His footsteps were steady unlike the monster dragging its feet in my dream.

There were less patrol than normally arranged as storm was approaching fast and only those who took the short end of the stick stayed outdoors. Only them, the Butcher, and me as the bait. It took a great amount of persuasion and argument for going on this plan to trap the killer. Both the Jarl and Ralof disagreed on using a bait, Vilkas thought of it as a good strategy but he was uncomfortable for using a shield-sister to be, Wunnferth argued that it was a means to an end. In the end we couldn't find another solution and decided to go with the plan.

The plan was creating a fake commotion back in Candlehearth Hall between me and Vilkas, pretending to disagree on something. Then I took flight towards the dock, faking sadness and foul mood which was quite effective as the dock worker decided to leave me alone. Then I returned inside the gate after it was dark. At that time, I did not forget bringing my lantern also antidote and extra bottle of cure disease Wunnferth provided generously. Pulling up my hood as snowflakes started to rain from the skies, I turned on my lantern. With the moonless night and storm clouds covering the heavens, I could barely see anything. Only up to two meters surrounding me, which was all my lantern's light allowed. It was like traversing an endless abyss where there were no edge nor end, only oblivion. Ironically, I am both prepared and unprepared. The storm was not in the plan. A sentence appeared in my mind, floating around irritatingly as if Molag Bal himself yelled at me : _YOU ARE NOT PREPARED_!

Ralof, Vilkas, Wunnferth and few other willing soldiers were prepared to ambush at any given moment, only if I could reach the market. Gray Quarters alleyway was too small and cramped for a battle, and it could only served as a leverage to the Butcher. Swords and axes may hit the walls or allies instead of burying steel inside the ruthless murderer's brain, creating further conflict instead of ending it. Meanwhile the Butcher could laugh whilst planting his cleaver into attacking forces. I brushed the manic laughter from my mind, trying to keep a cool and clear head. I had died in my own nightmare, there'd be no sense in dying again in real life.

.Tap…Tap. A footstep. Another's. Not mine. Yes, the Butcher was imitating my walking pace, thinking he could fool me. I broke my pace on purpose and it certainly worth the effort. Though I realized his presence and unmistakably murderous aura just a steps away behind me, I pretended not to acknowledge his presence at all. Muttering curses and improper words I thought I'll never use for conversations, I launched mockery towards my senior who was probably anxiously waiting for his shield-sister to step in the market area. It was a silent curse but was loud enough for the Butcher to hear. If he wasn't trying so hard at covering his presence, he would be laughing. Laughing at my incompetence and for being oblivious towards my fate. To die in his hands. Or cleaver.

He fastened his pace, but still matching mine. He's a step closer. Trying not to give in a temptation to look behind, I slightly quickened my pace hoping he won't notice. I could imagine a wide grin, if not a crooked smile widened each step he take closer towards me. With all the tension and paranoia rushing into my head, I finally gave in into the temptation and turned around. Dim lantern light revealed the identity of the Butcher: Callixto Corrum. He wore no mask at that time, not a kind and friendly mask he wore whenever sun touched his face. The moment sunlight retreated, the mask shattered, revealing manic visage. A cleaver in one hand, ready to strike. He was not the crooked man in my dream, but his grin certainly was similar.

I gasped and took involuntary steps behind. My legs were shaking from the sheer horror. I mentally slapped myself, reminding that Callixto was nowhere as menacing as the crooked man in my dreams. Not even close. Killer he might be, but he was just a single human being. Only with a cleaver in one hand. Which would be bad should he managed to plant it in my flesh. We stood there silently for only the Divines knew how long. Probably only lasted for mere seconds, but it certainly felt like an eternity. Imagine being in the midst of unknown darkness and endless abyss with a ruthless murderer tailing you. Wouldn't that be the worst oblivion on Nirn?

There were no words exchanged, for there were no need. Dark. I threw my lantern towards the manic Imperial store owner and plunged into darkness. Muttering simple Alteration spell that had saved my life many times : Clairvoyance. I mentally traced the road towards the market, where the elder wolf and Ralof laid in wait. Picturing Vilkas, an invisible thread of light appeared under my feet and created a determined straight line, guiding my way towards the rendezvous point. He didn't know I'm a mage…yet. Imagining him stepping on a lightning trap was a tempting and hilarious temptation, though such I would not do until we arrived in the ambush.

Then the unexpected happened, a small knife landed on my shoulders. I shrieked. But at that moment storm descended upon Windhelm, muting all noise we made. None of the citizen living in Grey Quarters would hear all with all the roaring wind. A turn right. Left. Forward. Turn to left again. It wasn't too late when I realized my sense of direction went awry and my sight blurred. Poison as expected. Rummaging my leather bag, I found the bottle of antidote I prepared earlier. As I pulled out the cork, I stumbled against something. Wood and iron bars fell loose against my weight. The cobblestone wet from liquid stored inside that something. Barrels. The containers were not the only one broken, but also potions and antidotes I prepared.

Scrambling my feet and forcing my legs to move, I continued to run. My opponent was a human being, a mortal…who is killable and defeatable. Unlike the black wyrm back in Helgen. I started healing the stab wound, risking that Callixto would see the light. Only then I realized that my wet clothing smelled of cheap mead. It was the back door of Gnisis Cornerclub. Activating my Clayvoryance spell once again, it led me towards road with slightly better lighting. Sadri's Used Wares. I exhaled in relief. Few more steps and I arrived in front of the corner club. Patrons inside would never realize the bloody affair outside their doors and kept being merry. It should stay that way.

There's always something amiss in a plan, there's no guarantee it would work perfectly. Like descending storm and barrels standing in the way. But there's always silver lining even in darkest cloud. I saw the Temple of Talos and Candlehearth Hall nearby. Somehow the lukewarm lighting gave a sense of security. Just few more steps and it would be done. The whole accursed affair. There were no guards around as arranged. I ran past the temple and graveyard. Blots of dried blood still remained on the gravestone where Suzanne's limp body was found days ago. One more turn.

_ZAP_!

Callixto Corrum's head turned upward involuntarily as thunder struck his body. The electric force did not come from the heavens instead from the ground. He stepped over magic traps which Wunnferth had prepared prior of my coming. I saw it and managed to evade it, only the Butcher did not have enough affinity with magic to foresee it. Guards and Vilkas appeared out of their hiding spot and quickly disarmed the man. Among those men was Ralof, though I couldn't determine which was him as everyone wore those ugly shaped helmet. But I digress. The Court Mage quickly offered antidotes as he saw poisoning symptoms in me. I sat there watching Callixto put his last struggle before Windhelm authority finally put him down and making mental note to ask Wuunferth about the neat magical trap later.

* * *

Ulfric Stormcloak stood proud in front of the masses watching the execution. Death will be repaid in death, lives loss will have to be repaid in life as well. So he had decided the moment guards brought Callixto Corrum before him. It was late stormy night when we - court mage, Windhelm guards, Ralof and Companions- entered the keep bringing the Butcher leashed. The Jarl was busy discussing strategy against Imperial when Jorleif reported our success in capturing the real killer. He was both amused and yet vexed at the same time. For the Oddhouse owner had eluded Windhelm authority for too long he had taken four innocents with him. All for summoning Daedra in the midst of highly populated city. The Butcher didn't answer as he was gagged. The punishment was clear, he was to be beheaded right after sunrise. He was watched the whole night as to prevent him from committing suicide.

The Jarl looked majestic on the makeshift stage where both him and bound Callixto were on. Guards had spread the news the first thing in the morning, that the real butcher was caught and the ruler of Eastmarch will personally execute him. Which explains the lack of headsman on the stage. Ralof was behind Callixto, making sure he wouldn't escape or kill himself. Guards were on edge as well. Archers were ready on top of buildings. There was no sense in letting guards down before the Butcher's head rolls. Vilkas and I were on the first row, whilst Wuunferth was standing by at one side of the stage. The serial murderer's eyes were upon me one time, it was of pure hatred.

One of the guards approached and told me that the Jarl requested my presence on the execution stage as well. My senior nodded at me and gestured for me to obey the Jarl. So I followed the guard and stood by Wuunferth. The same guard handed me an ancient looking sword and directed me to hand the sword to the Jarl when given the signal. There I thought being chased by a fiery dragon was the worst. Well, one could never run from such a task given by a Jarl…unlike when a dragon was hot on your trail. That was a reward in itself though, when you could see Ulfric's majestic nature on display in front of his people. I saw his defiant nature back in Helgen when he was almost beheaded. It was different. Yes…very different. Before General Tullius he kept his composure but in front of his people he was truly a leader of his people. His wheat blonde hair shone under morning sunlight and swayed slowly under ever gentle breeze. Strong visage and a pair of sharp eyes gazing upon the populace.

"My people. My faithful Nords, true sons and daughters of Skyrim. Storm had descended upon Windhelm in the form of many great evil. The Thalmors and their Imperial lap dogs, banning of Talos, long winters, dragon reawakening, bandit raid, and those of lesser evil. Such evil had killed four innocents, four respected citizens of Windhelm! May their souls received in Sovngarde…" Jarl Ulfric stopped his speech for a moment, letting the atmosphere sank into each of his people's heart. He knew his people needed a little time for remembering the dead whose bodies were already embalmed and laid in the hall of dead. Those who knew the victims shed tears and clung to each other. Then he continued, as he pointed towards Callixto "But fear no more, for the evil could no longer do any more harm to our fine city. Yes, she may be frozen in the Northern part of Skyrim, but that does not mean our hearts are as frozen. Are we as cold blooded as the Thalmor, who struck the heart of the Empire, who denied Talos, and made enemies of us sons and daughters of Skyrim?"

The people cheered, cursing the Thalmor and praised their High King. True High King of Skyrim. He then continued, "With the help of the truest of Nords, the Companions…we have caught the cold blooded murderer than single handedly eluded us and killed our brethrens" The Jarl looked at me, nodding slightly. That was the cue. I stepped on the stage slowly and handed him the sword. Quickly returning to my position beside Wunnferth afterwards. "Look closely at the murderous Imperial man, and plant this vision into your hearts. For life stolen must be repaid in death. Alas, he could only die once. For a thousand deaths does not suffice for all the damage he had done"

Ralof pushed Callixto, leading him towards the block. The masses threw curses towards their former fellow citizen. Ralof kicked the Butcher behind his knee and bend his body so his head laid on the stone block, ready to be executed. Jarl Ulfric approached the block with sword in hand. He raised his sword, whilst the masses screamed for blood. _Kill him! Kill the traitor!_ The sword struck true and sliced Callixto's neck. His head rolled onto the cobblestone, leaving red trails of blood like his victims did. The moment his head rolls, silence fell on the masses. Normally they would tear off the Butcher's head in glee but the Jarl calmed his people. "This storm…has subsided, my brothers and sisters. The storm that loomed over our city for a time too long. But the same could not be said for Skyrim. This darkness covers our homeland, the very same darkness summoned by snake tongued Thalmors and their hounds. We have seen morning" He pointed at the rising sun, which the spectators looked in awe "…and soon, under the banner of the Stormcloaks. Skyrim will see the very same sun…again. Any of you true sons and daughters of Skyrim! Join us in our endeavor! Let's bring this light to every hold! Let the pointy eared bastards return to the abyss they belonged to!"

_All hail Ulfric Stormcloak! Skyrim belongs to the Nords! For Stormcloaks! For Ulfric, true High King!_

I did not hear the rest of the motivational speech. I grew fond of the Jarl in quite a short time, as he managed to turn a simple speech for execution purpose into a motivational one. He pushed his people to fight against the Empire and the Thalmor. The crowd gave us - Wuunferth, Vilkas, and I- a chance to join in the crowd and disappear from the festive. The Court Mage returned to his quiet sanctum and return to his long forgotten research. While the two of us went to put a closure to this mystery…the question often asked during our investigation. Why?

Unlocking the Oddhouse, we entered the true lair of the Butcher. The house itself was not too big, but suffice for a lone man living inside. The whole front area was turned into display room whilst he only had one room for every private needs. Sleeping, cooking, and eating was in the backmost room. Vilkas turned his attention towards the cupboards containing unique artifacts Callixto had collected throughout his journey. Nodding and smiling at the items on display. He looked at a certain book and opened the pages, it was black. "He kept a blank book?"

"He said it's a book of fate. The content should change according to the reader, seeing you also opened a blank page meaning that piece is a hoax. Or perhaps fate does not know what to do with you?" I answered, feeling a little bit smug from all the performances I had done until that time. Once again browsing the items on display. Soon the authority would come and clean the place up before selling it to an unfortunate buyer. I thought of taking items that would be too valuable to be dumped into fire as Wuunferth has suggested.

"Very funny, whelp"

"Funny should you mention that, this whelp helped you out so you won't have to suffer Ulfric's blade. I suppose you forgot already? Not surprising"

"…and this forgetful senior of yours saved you from a killer on a loose. I say we're even"

"Sure, keep on barking"

While the elder wolf turned his attention towards a unique shaped flute, I was intrigued at a certain chest which Callixto strangely guarded throughout my tour in the Oddhouse. He moved about as if he didn't want anyone to get close to it. The man certainly had confidence for performing a store owner as a front of his misdeed. I remembered him showing off his fine collection proudly. That one didn't look like it was faked. The chest was locked, but Vilkas provided a good display of lockpicking: bashing the key with two handed sword. Charming.

Inside was few pages of Viola's pamphlet, bloody dagger, and a journal. Obviously the true journal instead of the misleading ones. I browsed the page looking for clue. When I did, I found something unexpected. Rubbing my temple, I closed the journal and staggered towards nearby wooden chair in the room. Vilkas approached me, asking "So what was all this all about?". All I could answer was his sister. He swore.

"Say, you guys are collecting Ysgammor's belongings right? Callixto said this was his spoon, what do you say we take this back home?" I said as I spun an ancient spoon which Callixto showed me few days ago.

* * *

Ps: apparently Jorleif wanted this to be published, order from the Jarl. Pity the scribe.

Pss: how did they find…oh never mind, it's the Jarl.


End file.
